


[Not A Maniac] (DISCONTINUED)

by MindfulWrath



Category: Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Body-Snatching, Gen, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys had expected consequences for turning down Handsome Jack's offer to rule the universe side-by-side. Just . . . not these consequences.<br/>Fiona had expected Rhys to double-cross them. Just . . . not like this.</p><p>(This story is no longer being written.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was difficult to feel abject terror with the chair pumping a steady drizzle of dopamine into him, but Rhys managed. He yanked at the restraints, metal clanking against metal, and kicked his feet and arched out of the chair and screamed through his teeth, but none of his thrashing got him any more than a bloodied wrist and a lot of scuff marks on the floor.

"Rhysie, Rhys!" Jack chuckled, his voice coming from everywhere and rolling around the room like a shell casing. "C'mon. That's no way for the new president of Hyperion to act. Ya gotta calm down, take it easy. Here, lemme—lemme help you."

"Let—me—go!" Rhys cried. The chair prickled at his back and legs, suffusing him with a floating numbness. The panic clawing at his chest ratcheted up another notch.

"What—what are you doing? What are you _doing?"_

"Hey, _calm,_ cupcake. Just sit back, let it happen."

 _"Stop it,"_ Rhys snarled. He was tired, his struggles were getting weaker by the second, and he was trying his damnedest to be frightened and angry but everything just felt so goddamn _good._

"Nah, nah, see, that's not how this is gonna work. What happens is, I tell you to do something, and you do it. And if you _don't_ do it, I pick one of your friends to do trapdoor maintenance. If, heh, if you see what I'm saying."

"Yeah, I _get_ it," he snapped, although the venom was diluted. He was more fidgeting than struggling now, and his eyes didn't want to stay open. His organic hand could pick out each soft fiber of the chair, and simply breathing was bordering on a spiritual experience.

"Good, 'cause I hate repeating myself. Hey, is it possible to overdose on dopamine? Never really checked. Ah, well, never hurt me, you'll be fine. Used to crank up the chair _real_ high whenever stuff got stressful. Or annoying. Or boring. How's it workin' for ya?"

 _I hate you,_ he tried to say, but all that came out was a fluttering whine as his head tipped back against the chair. Movement was unthinkable, both because his bones had been filled with lead and because he couldn't come up with a single thing that would feel better than this, right here, now.

"Yeah, it's workin' real good," Jack said. His face flickered on the big screen, and Rhys watched it through half-lidded eyes. The expression on the giant face was absolutely smug. "I mean, you're gonna wake up with the worst hangover of your _life_ in the morning, but eh, what do I care."

"Mmn lenmn," said Rhys, and immediately forgot what he'd been trying to say. It couldn't possibly have mattered.

"Whazzat? Yeah, I probably should get somebody up here to haul your ass to bed. No offense, but you still don't look like president material. Kinda . . . droopy for that. You got a preference? Nah, never mind, you don't care."

Jack vanished off of the screen, and Rhys let his eyes drift closed. He was floating, just like in the caravan, only the air was soft and warm and holy _shit_ he felt so _good._

It could have been five minutes or five years later, but someone touched his shoulder. The contact sent electric sparks shooting under his skin, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, shuddering.

"Oh no, _oh_ no, what'd he _do_ to you?"

Sasha's voice was distant, muffled, as though Rhys's head were under water. He wanted to open his eyes, but it seemed a Herculean task from the other side of the floating fog. He was vaguely aware that the restraints had gone—somehow, sometime—but he couldn't remember why that was significant or how he was supposed to feel about it.

Sasha was talking again, but Rhys couldn't pick out the words, because there were hands on his sides and then a shoulder in his stomach, and it probably should have hurt but it only sent more of those skittering sparks zooming around his body. For a minute, he forgot how to breathe, draped over Sasha's shoulder with the blood rushing to his head. She had one arm around his waist, and it scattered more sparks through him with every step, building a slow heat in his chest.

Time passed—there was no telling how much—and suddenly he was dumped onto his back, bouncing on soft cushions and a silken duvet. It wasn't painful, but he cried out anyway—it was too much sensation all at once, so that he felt like his body was going to come apart around him. He sucked in a breath that whistled in his throat and clenched his hands on the duvet.

"Holy shit," Fiona said.

"Yeah," Sasha agreed.

"I mean, holy _shit."_

"Yep."

"Just when I thought things couldn't get any _worse._ What the hell _happened_ in there?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait for him to, uh, come around." There was a fidgety silence, and then she asked. "Is he . . . hurt? Is it hurting him?"

There was a whole chord of disgust in Fiona's voice when she said, "No, I _think_ it's pretty much the opposite of that. Eugh."

"Oh. _Oh._ Uh, that's. . . ."

"Yeah, I'm voting we just leave him until that— _that_ stops happening."

Rhys attempted another mumble, but it slipped out of his head halfway through because the movement of his own lips was overwhelming.

"Heeeey," Fiona said, in a voice usually reserved for growling mutant dogs. "We're uh, we're just gonna toss a blanket over you and, uh, leave you to it. Okay? Yeah, okay. You'll be fine."

There was something important he was supposed to say to them. He was sure of it. Slogging through his own mind was enough to leave him gasping for breath, but he finally managed something like intelligible speech.

"Jack," he breathed. "'S . . . Jack. . . ."

"Yeah," Fiona said. "We heard."

"Nn m'faul. . . ."

Sasha laid a hand on his shoulder and he shuddered. There was a sharp slapping sound, and the touch was withdrawn.

"Don't _touch_ him," Fiona scolded. "You'll just make it worse!"

The whole room was spinning, more in an ocean-eddy kind of way than a wacky carnival-ride kind of way. It was soothing, and it occurred to Rhys how _nice_ it would be to sleep like this, how soft and lovely his dreams would be, how peaceful.

"I carried him all the way here, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I didn't have to _see_ that."

"Well excuse _me_ for trying to provide a little comfort."

"If anybody in this room needs comforting, it's me. Eugh. _Yeuch._ That is _not_ something I ever wanted to see. Or think about. Ever."

"Okay, okay, I get it. So what do we _do?"_

"Grab Gortys and run for the caravan?"

"I mean that _doesn't_ involve getting killed by Hyperion goons."

"We wouldn't necessarily—okay, well, so it's a long shot, but it's . . . still better than sitting around in here!" She made another noise of disgust. "Although I'm pretty sure wading through chest-deep sewage would be better than sitting around here."

"Y'know, somehow I get the feeling that the Megalomaniac From Beyond the Grave isn't going to just let us walk out of here."

"Yeah? Why not? Why would we matter at all to him?"

"Well, I mean . . . obviously whatever happened in there, it had to do with Rhys. Otherwise he wouldn't be . . . yeah. And Jack knew we were here. He knew who I _was._ Talked to me like—almost like he knew me. It was . . . really creepy, actually."

There was a beat of silence.

"You don't think . . . Rhys. . . ?" There was just a hint of disappointment in Fiona's voice.

 _"Nnn,"_ he slurred emphatically. Sasha patted his shoulder again, and he let out a much less dignified noise.

"Would you stop _touching_ him?" Fiona snapped. "Look, just, put a blanket on him and let's go find somewhere _else_ to talk. Okay? Can we do that?"

Time got slippery again, and then there was a gentle weight over his whole body, a settling sensation of security, just heavy enough to keep him from floating away.

His brain, relieved of the burden of that one last concern, went dark.

* * *

 

Rhys suddenly went still and limp as a ragdoll, and Fiona had a brief but startling conviction that he had just died, just burned out like a lightbulb, _snap,_ gone forever.

Then a familiar—and annoying, _God_ it was annoying—snore rattled out of his lips, and something that was a lot like relief—but wasn't, of course—flooded through her. She sank into one of the too-cushy, ergonomically-designed-to-be-secretly-uncomfortable Hyperion chairs, and rested her elbows on her knees. Sasha, perched on the bed at Rhys's side, mimicked her posture.

"Great," Fiona said. "Now what."

"Coffee would be nice," Sasha offered.

"I'm not drinking any of their damn coffee. It's probably got . . . weird chemicals in it, or something."

"I drank some of it earlier, I don't feel weird."

"Yeah, no. Still don't trust it."

They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of Rhys's snores breaking around them like waves against a rocky shore.

"This . . . is really bad," Sasha murmured eventually, staring at her hands. "Isn't it."

"Uh, the fact that the insane guy who ruined everything on Pandora is back in control of all of—this—or the fact that we're right in the middle of the hornet's nest? Yeah, I'd say it's pretty bad."

Sasha glanced over her shoulder at Rhys, and pain flicked across her features.

"Fi, he was . . . when I went to get him, he was. . . ."

"He was what, Sasha?"

She swallowed, turning her eyes back to her clasped hands.

"He was sitting in the chair," she said.

"That little _cretin,"_ Fiona spat, shooting to her feet. The little pistol was in her hand, easy as breathing. "I knew he was up to something. I _knew_ he was gonna double-cross us!"

"Oh, sit down," Sasha sighed, and the resignation in her voice gave Fiona pause. "Even _if_ you kill him, it's not gonna help."

"Well I _don't_ see much benefit in keeping him alive," she retorted through gritted teeth. She did stuff the gun back into her sleeve, though.

"I—I don't know. Maybe it's not what it looks like. I mean, Rhys wouldn't . . . _really. . . ."_

"But he _did."_

"What if it wasn't on purpose?" Sasha appealed. "What if—what if Handsome Jack was—was, I dunno, forcing him to do it, somehow? I mean, he did _this_ to him, what else. . . ?"

Fiona shook her head and started pacing the small room. It only took her four steps to get from one wall to the other, but it was the spirit of the thing that counted.

"Okay," she sighed eventually. "First thing's first, we figure a way to get out of here. Preferably with Gortys, but if not—Pandora's a big planet, we might be able to keep Vallory off our asses. For the rest of our lives." She shook her head. "We'll worry about that later. Escape first."

"What's the _point,_ Fi?"

"The _point_ is to not _die_ on this ugly-ass . . . space-trashcan. Okay? I'm not saying we can fix everything, because—well, because we can't, but there's no _way_ I'm dying up here. And neither are you. So we survive until we can get out, and then we—we just, keep on surviving. Right? For the rest of our lives." She sighed. "Yeah."

"Uh-huh. Great plan. Hey, while you're making up vague, hopeless plans that'll never work, could you go ahead and think up a story about us _not_ going back to Pandora? Ooh, and becoming _space-millionaires,_ let's add that _impossible goal_ in there, too."

"I'm _trying,_ here!" Fiona snarled, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Which is a hell of a lot more than I see _you_ doing!"

"It's _over,_ Fiona," Sasha declared, her voice thick. "Just—just _stop._ Okay? Just . . . stop."

Rhys moaned in his sleep, and Fiona's lip curled. She rolled her eyes and went back to pacing when Sasha put her hand over Rhys's—or at least, the lump under the blankets where Rhys's hand probably was.

"So what, you're just—giving up? Just like that?"

"What if I am?" Sasha asked. "What if I'm done fighting and lying and cheating and scrambling around in the dust just to survive?"

"Then there really _was_ something in that coffee," Fiona said. "What's gotten into you?"

She shook her head. "Just tired, I guess."

Fiona paused, then sighed and resumed her seat.

"You know," she said, "if there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here."

Sasha wrinkled her nose. "I don't think you'd wanna hear about it."

"Is it about him?" She gestured to Rhys, who was starting to drool. "Because, believe me, I'd noticed. Everybody on Pandora's noticed."

She blinked, startled. "Wait—really?"

"Uh, yeah. It was pretty obvious."

"But—why didn't you _say_ anything?"

Fiona made a noncommittal noise. "Didn't seem polite."

"I guess I just . . . didn't want to believe it. Y'know? It was easier just to think he was crazy and let it go. But now. . . ."

"Wait," Fiona said, holding up a hand. "Wait wait wait wait wait. What are you talking about?"

"Uh," said Sasha, eyes darting. "What are _you_ talking about?"

"I was talking about the mondo-giant dorky crush he has on you."

It was difficult to tell, in the sickly Hyperion lighting, but Sasha might have been blushing.

"O-oh. I mean, yeah, but that's not. . . . You remember, way back at the death race, when he first started, y'know, going nuts?"

Fiona snorted. "Yeah, when he fell off the catwalk and said he . . . saw. . . ." Her eyes got very wide, and her stomach dropped into her boots. "Oh."

"I mean, it's _possible,_ isn't it? That—that some digi-Jack, or something, got into his head, and started. . . ."

"Making him look skag-shit crazy?"

"Y-yeah, well, yeah. It's like, what if, all those times he was talking to himself, he . . . wasn't."

She nodded. "He was talking to Jack." She pushed her hair back off of her cheek. "You think we were supposed to end up here? This was a setup?"

Sasha chewed her lip. "I don't think Vallory would want Handsome Jack back in charge. Nobody on Pandora would. Odds are, she didn't know. She couldn't've set us up."

"Yeah, but . . . come on, it seems like a pretty big coincidence. Rhys just _happens_ to end up with Handsome Jack in his head, we just _happen_ to get sent to Helios where the last Gortys piece just _happens_ to be in Jack's office. . . . I dunno, Sasha, it's kind of a lot to have happened by accident."

"I mean, a lot of those Hyperion goons _really_ wanted Rhys's head. Maybe they arranged for this. Maybe they knew about digi-Jack and decided they wanted him back, no matter what it took."

Fiona snorted and sat back, folding her arms. "Well, they got him."

"I think it's more like, he got them."

"Oh yeah. Got 'em _real_ good. I hope they _all_ go out the airlock."

"That . . . would probably include us going out the airlock, too."

Fiona shrugged a shoulder. "Eh. Worth it."

Sasha very nearly smiled.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_ Wakey wakey, cupcake. Time to go to work. _

It wasn't exactly pain that greeted him when he woke—Rhys had been in pain before, some of it severe—it was more akin to the bone-deep ache of thorough discomfort that pervaded his arm every time he had to recalibrate it.

Which was all to say, he felt like he'd fallen out the back of a speeding caravan and been stepped on by a rakk hive, and he wished he was dead.

Rhys just managed to claw his way to the edge of the bed before he threw up everything in his stomach—which wasn't much, but he made the effort anyway—even though every movement threatened to pop his aching muscles clean off of his bones.

He lay half-off the bed, shaking and dizzy, his cybernetic arm clenched so hard on the mattress that his fingers had torn the duvet.

"Hey."

Rhys winced. Even the soft-spoken word was like a knife to the ear. It was a wonder he wasn't throwing up blood.

"You uh . . . you don't look so good."

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Rhys managed to prop himself up against the wall, though it left him feeling like he was going to be sick again. Sasha sat in a chair wedged into the corner of the tiny room, her black Hyperion suit rumpled, dark bags under her eyes.

"Ditto," Rhys croaked, making a weak gesture.

She raised an eyebrow.  _ "Ditto? _ Really? That's what you're going with?"

"Talking hurts," he said.

With a click and a whine, his ECHO-eye activated, making him jerk back against the wall. There was an overlay covering Sasha, highlighting her in yellow and appending the caption  _ Dead Woman Walking _ right over her throat. Rhys scrambled to his feet, though it felt like every bone in his legs was broken.

"I have to go," he blurted.

The door was overlaid in yellow, too.  _ Choose Life, _ it said.

Sasha stood as well, and caught him when he tripped over his own feet staggering for the door.

"Whoah there, cowboy, you're not going anywhere." Her hands were firm on his forearm.

"Let go," he said, tugging. He was going to throw up again.

"Nuh-uh. You're gonna fall and break something. Get back in bed."

"Sasha!" he snapped. "Let go of me!" He looked at her again, which he hadn't meant to.  _ Dead Woman Walking _ was still stapled to her throat. He wrenched his arm out of her grasp and was only saved from falling on his ass by crashing into the door.

"What the hell, Rhys?" she demanded.

He fumbled for the doorknob. "I'm sorry," he babbled. "Look, I'm—I'm sorry, I have to—" The door opened and he tumbled out into the hall. There was a sparkling golden line on the floor, dotted with arrowheads at regular intervals. He staggered off after them, his legs threatening to collapse under him with every step.

Somehow, he made it to Jack's (huge, ridiculous, testament-to-vanity) office, and when the doors hissed shut behind him he allowed his knees to give and crumpled to the floor. He threw up again.

"Tsk. Somebody's gonna have to clean that up."

He looked up through watering eyes. Jack was standing over him, translucent and blue, smirking.

"This is  _ your _ fault," Rhys snarled.

Jack held up a finger. "Ah-ah! No. It's  _ your _ fault, for being a stubborn idiot. If you'd just  _ agreed _ to rule Hyperion with me, you'd be rolling in money and women right now, instead of your own puke."

"I'm sorry, in what  _ universe _ is it  _ my _ fault when you decide to drug me unconscious?"

"This one," Jack answered, and the flash of teeth under his lip was no less threatening for not really being there. He grinned, relaxing into himself, and spread his arms. "Okay, Rhysie, look. We got off to a bad start. You made some mistakes, I'd like to think you've learned from them. Fact is, you're the president of Hyperion now! Everything you've ever wanted, right at your fingertips."

Rhys shook his head and hauled himself upright. There was something about kneeling at Jack's feet that was going to make him throw up  _ again. _

"This is  _ not _ what I wanted."

Jack laughed at him. "Hey, hey you remember what I said about you telling me  _ no? _ How it was gonna get people killed? Strike two, there, cupcake. And that's me being generous. Now, I don't  _ care _ if you thought this was all gonna be sunshine and roses, because from here on out, this is  _ absolutely _ everything you've ever wanted. Got it?"

He ground his teeth, fingernails digging into his palm. "Fine," he spat.

"Good! Glad we could work that one out. Now go get in the chair."

Rhys bristled, and there was a  _ hell, no _ queuing on his tongue, but he managed to swallow it down before it fired off and killed somebody. He settled for a murderous glare as he stumped his (ridiculously long) way to the desk. Jack winked out and blinked back in leaning against the desk, one foot resting against it, his thumbs in his pockets. Looking down at the bright, friendly yellow of Jack's chair, Rhys swayed on his feet. Dread was blanketing him in layer upon layer of tar, and his nausea made a resurgence. He managed not to throw up on the chair, but it was a close-run thing.

_ "Sit," _ Jack snapped. "Come on, kid, I don't have all day."

"I don't. . . ."

"Whazzat?" He cupped a hand to his ear. "Was—was that a  _ no? _ Was that a  _ no _ I just heard? Ma-han, Rhysie, you really must wanna kill somebody today."

"N-no—I mean, it wasn't a—I wasn't trying to—"

Jack cackled. "Ah, you so stupid. Sit down before you hurt yourself."

Rhys lowered himself into the chair, shaking. Within moments, his headache had dissolved, the sore tension of his muscles had relaxed away, and his queasy stomach had settled. He wanted, desperately, to be panicking, but just feeling  _ normal _ again was euphoric.

"There, see? Now don't you feel dumb, walking in here like you thought you were gonna die."

"To be fair," Rhys said, "I did."

"Nah," Jack said, waving a hand. "I get rid of you, I have to find a new puppet-prez. You're convenient, and besides, I like our repartee."

"What, the one where you threaten to kill my friends every ten seconds?"

Jack grinned at him. "Yeah, and then you get that  _ look _ on your face. Reminds me of the old puppy-kicking days." His grin went sharp around the edges. "Besides, you're taller than most everybody. I like it. Makes me feel all big and strong. Well. Big. We'll work on that other part."

Even the synthetic sense of well-being provided by the chair couldn't stop the blood draining from Rhys's face.

"Meaning . . . you. . . ."

"Are in the market for a leggy stranger to get inside? Oh yeah."

All the blood that had gone from Rhys's face came rushing back with reinforcements. "Don't—"

"Yeah that was kind of—"

"—say it like that."

"—really weird."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment, then shook their heads and looked elsewhere.

"So you're gonna steal my—my body," Rhys said.

"Borrow. When I feel like it. I  _ had _ intended for it to be a permanent thing, but, hah, I tell you what, I did  _ not _ expect it to be so much fun to be  _ all of Helios. _ Not giving this up for anything. Talk about feeling big and strong."

"Why don't you just  _ stay _ in there, then?"

"Uh, duh, because I can't  _ feel _ anything, Dum-Dum, and it sucks. Don't get me wrong, it's just as much fun blowing people out of airlocks, but there's just something so  _ cathartic _ about strangling someone with your own two hands."

"I am  _ not—" _

"Not to mention sex."

"No," Rhys said. "Nope, no, no way. Get your own body."

Jack's eyes glittered. "What was that, Rhysie?"

The fact that his system was flooded with endorphins only served to soften the hammer-blow of dread that came crashing down on him.

"N-nothing, it was nothing, I didn't mean—"

"Because I'm  _ pretty _ sure you just told me  _ no." _

"Jack, no, I—"

"And you  _ just _ did it  _ again!" _ There was a crowing delight in Jack's manner, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Do me a favor, Rhysie, and plug that thing into your head again."

The executive override port unfolded from behind the chair like a metal spider's leg and hovered next to his head. Rhys stared at it in muted horror.

"Don't make me tell you again, Rhys," Jack warned.

It took him three fumbling tries to grab hold of the stick, his fingers numb, his heartbeat accelerated to a single tone. He could not look away from Jack's face.

Plugging in felt like it always did—weirdly sexual (which he would reveal to absolutely no one) and painfully invasive (which anyone could have guessed). The sensation of Jack rushing into him—whole and conscious, not parsed and scrambled like the first time—was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was like getting hit in the head with a baseball bat while somebody held a stun-stick to the base of his spine. He bit off part of his tongue when his whole body seized, arching him up out of the chair and throwing his head back with enough force to make him see stars.

Well,  _ more _ stars.

Clarity returned in ebb and flow, washing in like the tide. The world was distorted and spinning, his ears were ringing, his body was moving in uncertain fits and starts—

_ His body was moving. _

"Oh,  _ man," _ Rhys's mouth proclaimed. "This feels—awful, actually. Good grief, kid, how the hell did you even get out of bed?"

I didn't have much choice, he tried to say, but his body didn't oblige him by complying with the request.

"Oh yeah, right. Heh. Okay, kiddo, consider this your orientation. And my orientation, 'cause this is—phew, this is gonna take some getting used to. But mostly your orientation. How To Be President 101. So let's start out with a meeting, get you warmed up to the bureaucracy."

His right hand lifted itself and turned palm-up. Jack made a call that went through instantly.

"Yvette," Rhys's voice purred, "could I see you in my office?"

* * *

 

Fiona was hovering over the coffee machine with Sasha when the trouble started.

It happened without warning or preamble—every screen in sight flipped to the same image, and crystal-clear sound pumped out through the speakers. The busy hive of Helios ground to a halt all around them as people stared, transfixed, at the unfolding scene.

It looked like Handsome Jack's office—what Fiona had seen of it, anyway—and it was occupied by two people. On the door-facing side of the desk, there was the elegant black woman whom Rhys had called Yvette. Although her posture was professional, the look on her face was poorly concealed terror.

And then there was Rhys, reclining in the ugly yellow chair, his feet propped up on the desk, his chin resting on his knuckles. He was smiling.

"Yvette," he said, in a voice more smooth and confident than Fiona had ever heard him use before, "how much of the bylaws have you read?"

"All of them, sir," she replied. There was a twinge of resentment on the  _ sir. _

"Really? I'm impressed. You middle-management pencil-pushers hardly ever read all the bylaws." Rhys kicked his feet off the desk and stood, a fluid and predatory motion. "So here's a question for you: remember what the bylaws said about  _ traitors? _ Quote that out for me, would ya."

Yvette gulped. "S-sir, I—"

"Oh, it's fine if you don't remember. I can't imagine anything sticks around too long in that empty little head of yours. Here, I can pull it up for you. Never say I don't help out my employees."

Rhys extended his cybernetic arm towards her, and a blue screen appeared over his palm. Yvette stared at it.

He smiled and bounced his hand. "Read, Yvette," he prompted.

"Sir—" she croaked.

_ "Read it!" _ Rhys slammed his hand down on the desk so hard that everything on it jumped half an inch in the air. Yvette let out a strangled noise and flinched back. She cleared her throat.

"In—in the event of . . . an act of treason," she began, her voice shaking itself to bits, "including but not limited to: attempted murder of a higher-ranking Hyperion employee; sale of Hyperion technology or information to outside parties, especially Atlas, or any goddamn Vault-hunting bandits; use of—"

"Yeah, yeah, skip to the good part," Rhys said.

She gulped again. "The . . . wronged party or parties accept the responsibility of—of—"

_ "Of, of,  _ uh, oh, waah, big scary words,  _ come _ on, Yvette, have some goddamn dignity."

A pair of tears slid down her cheeks.

"Of strangling the traitor to death," she whispered. Rhys closed his hand, and the holographic screen vanished.

"This is not happening," Sasha murmured. "This is  _ not _ happening."

"He wouldn't," Fiona said, her shaking hands sloshing coffee out of the mug. "He  _ wouldn't. _ He's just—scaring her. That's it, that's all. Rhys is just . . . scaring her a little. To make a point."

_ "That's not Rhys," _ Sasha hissed.

"There, see?" Rhys cooed. "Was that so hard?"

"Sir, I—I don't see how I've broken any of the bylaws."

"Of course you don't. You're an idiot. Well, let me spell it out for you: see, that  _ thing _ you were trying to get by cutting off my pretty head? Yeah, that was the ol' H-J himself. You know. Your boss. Everybody's boss. And I don't know if you knew this, but killing Rhysie here?" He gestured to himself. "Would've killed Mr. Handsome Jack, too. So, as a matter of fact, you attempted to murder a higher-ranking Hyperion employee. And since your idiot Wallethead of a co-conspirator got his entire chest blown out of him down on Pandora, there's only one person left for me to strangle. You know. As per the bylaws."

"Rhys, I—I—please, we're friends—"

Rhys laughed at her, full-throated and cruel.

"Is that—is that how you treat your friends? Trying to cut their heads off? Okay, sure, Yvette, let's be friends then."

"No—wait—!"

The cybernetic arm shot out like a snake and caught Yvette by the throat. She slammed her feet into the desk, both at once, but Rhys hardly wavered, holding up her entire weight one-handed without apparent effort. She clawed at his hand and only succeeded in tearing off her own fingernails. Seconds passed, each more macabre than the last, as Yvette grew more frantic and Rhys stood like a statue of Death.

"Is everybody watching?" Rhys inquired, observing Yvette's thrashing with a pleased sort of detachment. "Because I'd hate for somebody to miss the message I'm sending here. So in case you're too dumb to get it—which I figure you probably are, because you're  _ all _ a bunch of idiots—here's a summary of the lesson I'm teaching, which my bestest friend Yvette here failed to learn."

Her eyes were bugging out of her head, her whole face swelling and distending. Her mouth gaped and her tongue lolled out thickly. Her struggles had become weak and uncoordinated.

"Do not," Rhys said, "under any circumstances, try to  _ fuck _ with me."

Yvette wound down like a toy whose batteries had died, until she hung limply from Rhys's hand, twitching. Rhys squeezed, and there was a sickening  _ crunch. _ He dropped her, and she fell in a heap, eyes glazed and staring.

Rhys looked directly into the camera and smiled.

"Now if there's anybody else who'd like to have a chat with me about my qualifications for this position, I'd invite you to come up to my office. We'll talk it out."

The screens went dark for a moment, and then popped back on to their regularly scheduled programming.

Fiona gaped.

"That . . . didn't just happen," she said. "This is some kind of weird, bizarro dream-world. Somebody must have hit me on the head, because that did not just happen."

"Oh my God," Sasha whispered. "Oh my God."

"Sasha you—you didn't see any of that, right? I'm hallucinating. I'm definitely hallucinating,  _ tell _ me I'm hallucinating."

"Oh my God," she repeated. She was trembling visibly.

Fiona set her teeth and slammed the mug down on the counter, spilling out half of the remaining coffee.

"Okay, you know what? That's it. We're getting out of here. Right now. Screw everybody else."

"Oh my God," Sasha said again. Fiona grabbed her by the arm and hauled her away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Three long, spotless corridors later, Sasha got her feet underneath her. Fiona let go of her arm more on instinct than through any conscious acknowledgement of the change, although she didn't slow her pace.

"Where are we going?" Sasha asked.

"Back to the shuttle bay. We're getting on the caravan and getting out of here."

"You really think they'll let us leave?"

"I think they might be a _little_ preoccupied with the whole murder-boss situation."

"Really? 'Cause, I mean, look around, Fi. Nobody seems upset."

Fiona glanced around, taking in the attitudes and postures of the Hyperions in the halls, always maintaining her air of casual assurance. She concluded that Sasha was absolutely correct—there was no more turmoil than there had been before the horrific broadcast. In fact, the better-dressed of the Hyperions seemed more relaxed, more affable.

"I think this is what they're used to," Sasha continued. "I mean, think about it. Jack was in charge here for a long time. This is . . . probably normal for them."

"Right, sure, murder-boss is normal. This place is _so_ messed up." She shook her head. "I still don't think they're going to care about us leaving. We're nobodies. As long as we stay calm and look like we know what we're doing, it should be a cinch."

"Okay," Sasha said, but she sounded unconvinced.

With only a few wrong turns along the way, leading to some self-assured backtracking that either went unnoticed or was deemed unimportant, they made it back to the shuttle bay in a little under ten minutes. A pair of armed guards stood on either side of the door, faces covered, leaning against the walls.

Fiona strode up to the door pretending she could not see them. She only stopped when one of the guards put out a hand directly in her path.

"What are you doing?" she snapped.

"ID," the guard sighed. There was an eye-roll somewhere behind the mask.

"ID?" Fiona repeated. "Don't you know who I am?"

The guard shook their head. "Look, I can look you up, which will take five minutes, or you can give me your ID, which will take five seconds. Your call, lady."

"That's _ma'am_ to you," Sasha corrected. She hovered at Fiona's elbow, the very picture of prim efficiency.

"Hey, wait a minute," the other guard said, standing up straighter. "Don't I know you two?"

"There, see? _Somebody_ has their eyes open," Fiona said. There was dread swirling in the pit of her stomach, the sick feeling of a con about to fall apart.

"Yeah, yeah, I _do_ know you two," Guard #2 decided. "Just . . . I don't remember where from. Raksha, where do I know these two from?"

Guard #1, Raksha, shrugged and sighed again. "How am I supposed to know that?" They turned back to Fiona. "Look, _ma'am,_ I just need to see your ID."

Fiona sniffed and lifted her chin, then dug in her pocket for the tour guide's stolen ID. "Fine. Here." And she handed it over.

The guard stared at the ID, then at Fiona.

"You uh . . . you had some work done?"

She bristled. _"Excuse_ me?"

They gestured with the ID. "You're looking a lot, uh, _whiter_ these days, Ms. Moss."

The blood drained from Fiona's face. She had opened her mouth to pour out the first excuse that came to mind when Sasha stepped up next to her.

"That's, uh, _my_ ID," she said, casting a shifty look at Fiona.

"Uh," said Raksha, glancing at their partner. "Why did _she_ have _your_ ID?"

"Are you getting paid to ask questions, or are you getting paid to check IDs and let me through this door?" Sasha demanded. Fiona ducked her head and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

"Yeah, but. . . ."

"Are you _really_ trying to pull this? Really? Because, I can call your manager down here, right now, and make a _biiiig_ fuss about how _you're_ holding up _my_ business because you're being nosy." Sasha folded her arms. "Is that what you want? For me to get management down here?"

Raksha frowned down at the ID again. "You don't really look—"

"Yeah, it's a bad picture, okay?" Sasha said, snatching the ID back and clipping it to her lapel. "So are you gonna let us get back to work, or am I going to have to point out to your boss how _inconvenient_ you're being?"

"Just let 'em through, Raksha," Guard #2 said, resuming their position leaning against the wall. "If they break anything, it's on Requisitions' head, not ours."

Raksha had a further moment of silent indecision, then shrugged and stood aside. "Yeah, whatever," they said.

"Thank _you,"_ Sasha said, brushing past. She called over her shoulder, "Come on, babe!"

Fiona hurried after her. Just before the doors closed, she heard Guard #2 say, in a flash of understanding, _"Oooohhh,_ so _that's_ why—"

The doors hissed shut on the sentence, leaving Fiona and Sasha loose in the bustling shuttle bay.

Sasha shuddered. "Eugh. That always feels so _gross."_

"Tell me about it. At least it works. C'mon, there's the caravan. Let's hurry, before someone who knows what they're doing shows up."

They wove their way through the anthill of the bay, making as much of a beeline as they could manage. A few strange looks were thrown their way, a few puzzled frowns at the non-reaction to someone's finger-guns, but no one accosted them or tried to stop them.

Fiona put her hand on the caravan's door, and her earpiece cracked to life.

 _"Ah-ah,"_ said Rhys, a wolfish grin in his voice. _"Leaving already? C'mon, the party's just getting started!"_

She yanked the door open and clambered inside, although her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking.

_"Wow, you're no fun at all. What's wrong, Little Miss Vault-Hunter get cold feet?"_

"Sasha," Fiona said, through gritted teeth, "get in."

Eyes wide, lips pinched, Sasha climbed up into the caravan and slammed the door shut behind her.

 _"Look at you two. All the shit you went through planetside, and you run off at the very first corporate murder? I mean, come_ _ on! _ _It's not like_ _ you've _ _never killed anybody."_

Fiona cranked the caravan and it shuddered to life. Sasha buckled in behind her, and Fiona began maneuvering towards the exit, scattering Hyperions with the approaching bulk of the ship.

"Not like that, we didn't," Sasha murmured.

"Oh, good," Fiona sighed. "I was worried he was just messing with _me."_

 _"Nah, I wouldn't split up the dream-team. Besides, the more collateral I have, the more likely Rhysie here is to cooperate. Not that I think he'll be doing much but crying like a big baby for a few weeks, but hey, I'm a future-oriented kinda guy."_ The amusement dropped out of his voice. _"Ahhh, no, but seriously, I can't let you leave."_

"Yeah? Try and stop us," Fiona snarled. The nose of the caravan was pointed towards the open end of the bay, the engines hot and revving.

 _"Okey-doke!"_ Rhys chirped.

A huge, heavy sheet of metal slammed down over the end of the bay. There was a brief outcry from the crowd within, and then silence fell.

 _"See, you just don't_ _ get _ _it,"_ Rhys said in her ear. _"I_ _ am  _ _Helios. I say you don't leave, then_ _ you don't leave! _ _Now I—I'm not sure what's so hard to understand about that, but maybe—just maybe—this'll get it through your thick Pandoran skulls. My house, my rules. Nobody leaves the party until_ _ I _ _say so. Now, did that get through, or am I gonna have to make an example of somebody?"_

"Yeah, we get it," Fiona growled. Her hands were white-knuckle tight on the wheel.

 _"Really? Are—are you sure? 'Cause,_ _ man, _ _I really wanted to do an example. You—you can't hear Rhysie screaming, but ma-han, it's, ah, hah. It's hilarious. Y'know what? I'm just gonna do an example anyway. Hands-on is the best way to learn. I think. Eh, whatever. Take notes, kids!"_

Two huge cargo arms whizzed down from the ceiling, claws open wide. With a screech of tearing metal, they grappled onto the caravan. Fiona screamed and dove for cover under the dash—Sasha was similarly cowering under her chair. The cargo arms pulled, tearing huge sheets of metal from the caravan, baring its insides. They descended again, ripping off the engines as though tearing the wings off of a bird.

_"Is this—is this getting through? I can't, actually, see you right now, so I'm gonna assume you're cowering like little Pandoran chickens."_

"Stop it," Sasha gasped, as the arms dove in again and tore off another chunk of the caravan's shell.

_"Aw, what, am I busting up daddy's ride? Come on, it's a piece of garbage and you know it. I'm doin' you a favor. Seriously. No self-respecting vault-hunter rides around in a trash can like this."_

"You made your point!" Fiona cried, struggling to be heard over the screech of tearing metal. "We get it! We're stuck here!"

_"Uh-huh, whatever. This is just fun, now."_

The door ripped off, and Fiona scrambled down the stairs and out, beckoning to Sasha as metal shavings snowed down on her head. Sasha hurried out as well, just as three more cargo arms joined the fray.

They stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, watching as the only home they'd ever known was eaten alive by the robotic vultures of Hyperion.

* * *

 

By the time Jack drugged him to the edge of unconsciousness, Rhys was glad for it. The chemicals washed the trembling horror from his limbs, and even if they couldn't get Yvette's blood out of the joints of his hand, they at least made it easier to cope with it being there. The taste of Jack's voice faded from his tongue, and vicious self-loathing was unseated by simple apathy.

Jack flowed out of his head and left him half-empty and disoriented, his limbs already unaccustomed to obeying his commands. Even breathing of his own accord was difficult, at first.

"You're a monster," Rhys slurred. From everywhere, Jack laughed.

"Hey, you're not driving home tonight, are you, kid? Gimme your keys. Wait, no, I already got 'em. You just go ahead and pass out."

He tried to get out of the chair and only managed it by sliding bonelessly to the floor. They'd already taken Yvette's body away, already cleaned up the blood, but this close, he could still smell the pervasive odor of death.

He wanted to cry. He should have been crying, shaking and screaming and tearing that traitor arm from its socket, gouging out the port in his head and crushing his eye with his thumb.

Instead, he lay on the floor, vaguely discontented and numb to his own horror.

"Don't hurt yourself," Jack chided. "Bad enough that you're a wet noodle, the last thing I need is you making my body bleed."

Rhys rolled his head back and forth on the floor. "Mine," he mumbled.

"Hah! Oh, that's cute. Real cute, cupcake. Y'know, I was thinking. That arm's ugly as sin, I'm gonna get it replaced."

 _"Mine,"_ Rhys repeated.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. I was thinking something in silver. Gold doesn't work with your coloring, otherwise it'd _definitely_ be gold. Ooh, maybe platinum, that'd work. Titanium? I like the idea of titanium. Semi-precious at best, but not nearly as soft as all that showy stuff."

Rhys's hand twitched. "Nn," he said.

"Ah! I got it, I got it. _Multiple_ arms, yeah, that'll work. Titanium for business, platinum for events. Wait a second, what did you just say?"

He struggled to collect his thoughts. They had dissolved into a sort of nebulous mass, and holding on to one was like catching clouds.

"'S useless," he managed. "Like . . . two weeks. No no no, _months."_

"Hang on, you're telling me that popping that thing off of you and sticking a new one on takes you out of commission for two _months?_ What kind of bullshit is that?"

Rhys shrugged. "'S just is."

Jack thought for a time—it was difficult to judge how much, because time was awfully slippery—and then made a sort of _meh_ sound that indicated a shrug.

"I can be one-handed for a couple months. That's what I have employees for."

Some kind of emotion stirred under the placid depths of Rhys's consciousness and then faded away again.

"Besides," Jack went on, _"pretty_ sure you're lying. I'll let it slide, this time, 'cause you look so damn good all whacked out on the floor under my desk. But uh, don't lie to me again, kiddo."

A thin line appeared between Rhys's eyebrows.

"Uh," he said.

"Look, shut up, I didn't mean it like that," Jack snapped. "I'm just—gonna get somebody in here to clean you up. Y'know. Because you're uh, you're garbage now. Empty can, yadda yadda. I got a space station to run, I don't have time for this."

There was a _pop,_ and the brainstem-sensation of being Not Alone dribbled away.

Rhys relinquished his tenuous hold on consciousness and followed swiftly after.

* * *

 

Raksha, gloating quietly behind their mask, escorted Fiona and Sasha back to what Fiona had dubbed The Barracks. It was more like a hotel than anything, plush and tacky carpets, soft lighting, rooms full of standard(ish) living accoutrements. When Sasha had retrieved Rhys from Jack's office the day before, the three of them had holed up in the tiny room Yvette had stuck them in when the power balance had officially shifted—clearly she had been wary of repercussions for mistreating the New Boss's friends (clearly not wary enough). Now, they rode the elevator all the way to the top floor—or rather, the one farthest from the Hub, which, judging by the decor and the quality of the carpet, seemed to hold penthouse status.

"Uh," Fiona said, "what are we doing here?"

"Hopefully," Raksha answered, "getting blown out of an airlock. 'Cause, if not, Housing are a bunch of assholes and idiots."

"Right. Because they're putting prisoners in the penthouse."

"Exactly!"

"You _do_ know we're not prisoners, right?"

"You're not Hyperion," Raksha said, "and you're not buying or selling anything. So uh, yeah. You're prisoners."

"Well, nicest prison _I've_ ever been in," Sasha remarked.

"It'd be so easy," Raksha grumbled under their breath. _"So_ easy. One little airlock malfunction."

"You must be fun at parties," Fiona drawled.

There was an implied glare from under the mask. Raksha gestured to a door on their right with the butt of their gun.

"That's yours," they said. "Hope you like sharing."

"I'm sure we'll manage somehow," Sasha assured them, and breezed into the room.

"Thank you _so_ much for all your help," Fiona added, stepping over the threshold.

"One _tiny_ malfunction," Raksha muttered, and closed the door on them.

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Hi! Good morning, sleepy-head!"

"Shh, not so loud. He's . . . not feeling well."

"Oh, oops! Sorry!"

Rhys managed to pry his eyes open and was confronted with a blurry pair of glowing eyes. They narrowed into crescent moons and a tiny robotic hand waved at him.

"Hi!" Gortys chirped. "You're awake! Oh, that's great, the gang's all here! Except Vaughn, I guess, and Loader Bot. Oh well! Maybe they can meet up with us at the Vault! Wait, were—were August and Finch and Kroger part of the gang? 'Cause I don't know where they went, except that they're not here."

"They definitely aren't part of the gang," Sasha said.

"Oh, good. Then the gang's almost all here!"

He felt like he'd swallowed several reams of sandpaper, which had subsequently been set on fire. There was a grinding stickiness in the joints of his right hand that sickened him. His whole right side, from shoulder to calf, ached right down to the bone. He rolled onto his side and curled up, hoping desperately that the Universe would find some way to kill him on the spot.

"Aw," Gortys said, "he really isn't feeling well. What can I do?"

"Gortys, sweetie, could you go get some water from the fridge?" Fiona asked.

There was a faint _clink_ as Gortys saluted. "Aye aye, captain!" She trundled off.

"Please," Rhys moaned, _"please_ tell me you're here to kill me."

"I wish," Fiona said.

"That's not funny," Sasha put in.

"Good, because I wasn't joking."

"I brought a _lot_ of water!" Gortys cried, returning with an armful of plastic bottles that was probably worth more than Rhys's left eye.

"Drown me in it," he requested.

"Okey-dokey!"

"Gortys, _no,"_ Sasha said. "Just—here, put those down, and I'll give this one to Rhys. Okay? You did great, though."

The little robot gasped. "I did? Hooray!"

A cold bottle was shoved into Rhys's hand. He shoved it right back out again.

"Oh, _now_ you're just being childish," Fiona scolded. "Sit up and grow up."

"No," he said.

"Rhys," she warned.

"I _murdered_ her," Rhys said, in a voice so low it was scarcely a whisper. "I stood there and—and watched her _die._ With my—my—"

His hand clenched so hard it made the hinges squeal in protest. Tears prickled at his eyes.

"That wasn't you," Sasha said.

"It was me enough," he retorted.

"Called it," Fiona said.

"Is . . . is somebody dead?" Gortys asked. She was wringing her hands, her eyes half-occluded by worry.

"Gortys—" Fiona began, and then sighed. "Yes. Somebody's dead, and it's . . . sort of Rhys's fault."

"It's not," Sasha objected.

"It is," Rhys told her.

"Oh," said Gortys. "And . . . is he—are _we_ gonna die?"

"No," Fiona said. "No, we are not."

"Oh, _whew._ I was really scared for a second there!"

Rhys found himself staring at his hand. The other three went on talking, but their voices faded to a muffled gabble that carried no meaning.

There was blood crusted in the seams and joints. The Hyperion-yellow paint had been scratched off in ragged lines. A few of the little plates in his fingers were even bent.

He wondered, less than idly, if Gortys was strong enough to rip it clean off of him.

"Well, no, not clean," he muttered to himself, "because it's screwed onto my skeleton and wired into my nervous system."

"Oh, fantastic," Fiona sighed. "Now he's talking to himself again. That _must_ be a good sign."

"You don't have to be rude," Sasha told her. Her face came into view over Rhys's hand. "Hey. Would you please sit up and drink some water? You're not helping by just lying there."

"I talk to myself all the time!" Gortys supplied. "Because there was nobody else to talk to after all the scientists left. Not that they really wanted to talk anyway. But they gave me my last piece! And then they gave me this _sweet_ hotel room. And they brought you guys up here, too! They were really nice."

"Rhys?" Sasha asked. She put her fingertips on his wrist.

 _"Don't,"_ he snarled, yanking his hand back and forcing himself upright. It made his head spin, his right side scream in protest, but it also put his legs between Sasha and that hand, which he cradled against his chest. His back was pressed against a wall, which was oddly comforting.

"Okay! Okay." She raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, and backed off to sit on a second bed. "No touching. Got it."

There were about a thousand things he wanted to say about that, but there was a water bottle sitting on the nightstand between the two beds, sweat trickling down its sides. He suddenly became acutely aware of how thirsty he was.

Convincing himself to move was like rolling a square-wheeled car up a hill, but he struggled through until the bottle was in his hand—and then somehow, astoundingly, it was empty and he was gasping for breath and the world had come back into focus.

Sasha put another bottle on the desk. Rhys snatched that one, too, but only got through half of it before his body started threatening to throw it all up again. Fiona was staring at him with something teetering between pity and disgust.

"Aw," Gortys said, sagging. "I wish _I_ could drink water. He makes it look so _tasty."_

Rhys looked at the empty bottle in his lap, and then the half-empty one in his hand.

"That . . . was probably sixty dollars I just chugged," he remarked.

"Oh good _grief,"_ Fiona said, rolling her eyes. "Just when I think this place can't get any dumber."

Rhys paused a moment to take stock of his surroundings. The room was plush and large, decorated in such a way as to imply that the wallpaper was made entirely out of hundred-dollar bills. The sheets were silk, the pillows fluffed to perfection, the furniture graceful and the carpet tasteful. He was halfway through activating his ECHO-eye to figure out where they actually _were_ when he was taken by a sudden disgust at the technology and dropped the endeavor.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"We're on Helios!" Gortys chirped.

"That—yes, thank you, that's very helpful."

"Penthouse prison," Fiona said dryly. "Welcome to the high-and-dry life."

"No no, not dry, look at all the water!"

"I. . . . You know what? You're absolutely right, Gortys. Thank you."

The robot beamed. "I like being useful!"

"Wait wait wait," Rhys said, shaking his head. "Gortys, you said that you got your last piece. Right?"

"Yep!"

"You don't, um, look any different."

"That's because this room is really small, and I get _reeeeaaally_ big! Ooh, do you wanna see?"

"Maybe later," Sasha said, patting the robot's head.

"Oh. Okay!"

"So you can, now, get to the Vault," Rhys continued. His train of thought was on unsteady rails at best.

"Yep!"

"So why are you here? Instead of, you know, at the Vault. With . . . all of Hyperion."

"The blue guy said we couldn't go without him."

Rhys's jaw clenched, and another wave of nausea swept through him.

"Of course he did," he muttered.

"What I can't figure out," Fiona said, folding her arms, "is why they haven't separated us. Seems like kind of an oversight on their part."

"Why?" Rhys asked. "What're we going to do?"

"Well, I _could_ snap your neck," she replied.

"Please," he said.

"Still not funny," Sasha told Fiona.

"Still not joking," Fiona answered. "And usually, when you take prisoners, you don't keep them all in the same place. Especially when they have a history of working together."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Gortys cried, raising a hand. "I bet I know why!"

"Uh-huh?" Fiona said, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

"Because nobody's supposed to know that Rhys isn't feeling good!" She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial stage-whisper. "But we _already_ know, so it doesn't matter."

"You know," Fiona mused, "you might be on to something there."

"So we're, what, supposed to take care of him?" Sasha demanded.

"No," said Rhys. "I—I mean, that's . . . probably part of it, but that's not why. . . ." He trailed off.

"Why what, Rhys?" Fiona said.

"Why you're . . . alive," he answered.

"He has a point," Sasha said. "They could've just killed us."

Fiona shook her head. "It still doesn't make any _sense._ What do they need us for?"

"Not _they,"_ Rhys corrected. _"Him."_

"Oh, _him,_ right, of course," Fiona intoned. "Who's _him?"_

"Jack." The word got stuck in his throat and came out reedy and thin.

"Right. Sure. The Big Bad Handsome Jack needs _us_ for something."

"He does," Rhys said.

"Uh-huh. And what would that be?"

The words came out of their own accord. His brain had come unhitched from his body and was floating somewhere up by the ceiling.

"So he can kill you if I ever tell him _no."_

Gortys gasped. "Oh _no!"_ she cried. "Oh, that's awful! What if he asks you if you like ice cream, and you _don't like ice cream?"_

Something tugged at the corners of Rhys's mouth, but it wasn't a smile. "I guess I'd have to lie to him," he said.

"But you might have to eat the ice cream you don't like!"

"Yeah," he croaked, staring through his knees.

"So, wait a second," Fiona said. "You're telling me that we're . . . _blackmail?"_

He nodded.

"We're being used as blackmail."

"Pretty sure you just asked that, sis."

"No. _I_ am not blackmail. I'm not a—a piece of collateral. No way. Anybody who tries to kill _me_ is getting shot in the face."

"Skip the middle man," Rhys suggested. "Go ahead and shoot me."

 _"Stop it,"_ Sasha snapped at him. "You're not helping."

He shook his head. "You don't have to worry about it, Fiona. I'm not . . . not going to make the same mistake twice." He shuddered and pressed his hand against his chest. "Not again."

Fiona's eyes went wide, and then narrow. "Yvette," she said.

Rhys said nothing. He couldn't be certain he wouldn't just start screaming if he opened his mouth.

"But she betrayed you," Fiona continued. "She sold you out. She tried to get your head in a box!"

He was shaking. His throat was clenched so tight he couldn't breathe. His vision had gone blurry with tears.

"I probably would've—"

Gortys put a hand on Fiona's knee.

"Shh," she said, "not so loud. He doesn't feel good."

A tiny whimper of a sob slipped through Rhys's lips, and the floodgates burst. He pulled his knees up to his chest and curled into himself, weeping, hardly able to breathe for the force of it.

The only thought that clung on through the turmoil inside his head was how much he wished he was dead.

* * *

 

Of all the things Fiona had expected, Rhys curling up into a little ball of misery and sobbing had not been among them.

"Uh," she said.

"Oh, _now_ you've done it," Sasha said, rolling her eyes.

"I didn't _do_ anything!" Fiona objected.

"Uh-oh," said Gortys, wringing her hands. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No!" Fiona blurted. "No, sweetie, you didn't say anything wrong."

"Are you sure?" she asked, glancing at Rhys.

"I'm positive," she answered, patting the robot on the head.

"Oh. Whew. Okay. Um, what now?"

"Good question," Fiona said, and turned to Sasha. "Any ideas?"

"You're the one who was yelling about escaping."

"I wasn't _yelling_ and I didn't say anything about _escape._ Although it's pretty high on my list of things to do."

 _"How,_ though? We can't exactly just hop in a shuttle and go."

"Yeah, I'd noticed. Which reminds me: how did he know where we were, what we were doing?"

"The guard scanned the badge, it probably registered in the system."

"It's not like it was _our_ badge, though."

"Maybe . . . the guards reported us? They didn't seem convinced."

"Could be. Or we might be being watched."

"Eugh. Yeah, I guess. It wouldn't surprise me, anyway."

Fiona glanced at Rhys. His crying had subsided to hiccups and sniffles.

"Or he ratted us out," she said. "He knew we had the card."

"Would you _quit—"_

She held up her hands, surrendering. "Maybe not on purpose. Must be hard to hide things from somebody who lives in your head."

Sasha fumed for a moment, then folded her arms and looked away.

"Yeah, well . . . it's still not his fault."

"I didn't say it was."

Rhys uncurled and got stiffly to his feet. Without a word, he shambled to the bathroom and locked himself inside.

"Should we . . . be worried?" Sasha asked.

"I don't think so," Gortys chirped. "I've noticed that humans wander off alone a _lot."_ She lowered her voice and whispered, "I think it's what happens when the water gets to the other end."

Fiona put a hand over her eyes and shook her head.

"Very, uh, observant," Sasha said. "Good job."

The pattering sound of running water filtered through the door.

"There, see? He's fine," Fiona said. She raised her voice and added, "And if he walks out here without a shirt, I'll throw up on him."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Your . . . priorities are really strange."

"Just because I'm a prisoner doesn't mean I'm going to put up with—that. You have to draw the line somewhere."

"You are _so_ immature."

"I use humor to keep myself from tearing my own hair out. Besides, I'd hate to see something no woman has ever seen before."

Sasha punched her in the arm. "Rude," she said.

Gortys looked back and forth between them. "I don't get it," she said.

Despite herself, Fiona laughed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"So, it feels weird to ask, but . . . what do you think happened to August?"

Sasha scowled. "Does it matter?"

Shrugging, Fiona answered, "Probably not. But between him and Finch and Kroger, I just . . . don't like not knowing where they are. Hell, for all  _ I _ know, they're just the kind of people Hyperion would hire on the spot."

"Yeah, I  _ dooon't _ think that's very likely," Sasha said. "It's not like they hate Hyperion any less than we do."

"Hm. Maybe they're in the deepest, darkest dungeon, sleeping on straw and, like, eating old boots."

Sasha laughed. "A girl can dream." She turned to Gortys. "You didn't happen to see any of them when you were getting dragged around, did you?"

"I didn't get dragged," Gortys pointed out. "I'm really heavy. But I didn't see anybody I knew. Sorry."

"That's okay," Fiona assured her. "You don't know any less than the rest of us."

There was a brief moment of quiet, tempered by the pattering of water from the shower. Steam curled out from under the door.

"Um," Gortys said, "does anybody know what happened to Loader Bot?"

Fiona frowned. "I don't think he was on the caravan when we . . . last saw it."

"I mean, he  _ was _ Hyperion property," Sasha said, looking down at her hands. "Maybe they just, y'know, took him back."

"To—to clean him," Fiona added, glancing at Gortys, who was wringing her hands. "He was pretty grubby."

"Yeah," said Gortys, but she didn't sound convinced.

"He's . . . probably hanging out with a bunch of other Loader Bots," Sasha said. "Like, his siblings, or whatever."

That made the little robot perk up. "Really? Oh, okay, that doesn't sound too bad, then. It's like a big family reunion! Aw, I wish  _ I _ could be there."

Fiona patted her head. "Gortys, do you think you could give me and Sasha a little time alone to talk?"

"Is it secret?" Gortys asked in a loud whisper.

"Nnno," Fiona hedged, "it's just . . . sister stuff."

"Oooh. Okay. I'll go see if I can talk to the fridge." And she trundled off.

"Okay, so this is going to sound crazy," Fiona muttered to Sasha, "but if they hurt Loader Bot, I'm gonna burn this place to the ground. Or—y'know, the space version of that."

"It doesn't sound crazy. I agree with you, actually."

"Really we should burn this place down anyway."

"Definitely. Once we're out of it."

"Well, yeah, that. But look—we have Gortys with us, right? So we know where the Vault is. I say, we get out of here, loot the Vault, and come back with a vengeance. And really big guns."

_ "Yeah," _ said Sasha, eyes glittering. "We'd be unstoppable. We could rescue Athena. I bet we could even take down Vallory."

Fiona smiled. "Let's . . . not get ahead of ourselves. First we have to get out of here."

She sighed. "Yeah, that's . . . the hard part. Got any ideas?"

"None yet. You?"

"Nope. It would help if we knew  _ anything _ about how this place works. I . . . kinda wish Vaughn were here."

"You know, I actually agree with you. Still, there has to be a way to get info on this place." She glanced at the bathroom door.  _ "Reliable _ info."

Sasha folded her arms and shrugged. "Hard to do if we're being watched. Which I'm . . .  _ pretty _ sure we are."

"Probably why they're keeping us all in the same place. Easier to keep an eye on us that way."

Sasha cast a nervous glance at the shiny black screen set into the far wall. Its position above a wooden escritoire made Fiona think it was probably some kind of telecom. She had yet to see a room in all of Helios that didn't have one.

"Fiona?" Sasha asked, her voice small and worried. "What do we do if he turns up again? Tells us to do things."

"Well first of all," Fiona answered, "I break that stupid screen and his stupid face."

"You know that won't actually  _ hurt _ him."

"It's symbolic, okay? If he wants somebody to drag Rhys's carcass out of his office—"

"Don't," Sasha blurted, and shook her head. "Don't . . . say it like that."

Fiona softened. "Sorry. If Jack wants someone to do his dirty work for him, he can get someone who isn't us." She paused, then added, "And if it comes down to it, I'll go get Rhys next time."

"Kind of . . . makes you wonder. Who got him this time."

Frowning, she said, "That . . . is a very good point." She sighed. "And just when I was starting to feel a little  _ necessary." _

"God forbid we be needed  _ here," _ Sasha intoned. "But if we  _ do _ end up having to—you know—we'll at least be out of this room. We might be able to use that."

"We'd have to be quick," Fiona mused. "They'd know something was up the moment we both went out. We'll need a plan."

"And for a plan," Sasha sighed, "we need info."

"Hey, good plans take time. We have time. So,  _ so _ very much time. It'd be boring if we weren't busy planning." She didn't mention the fact that their time could be cut very, very short by a single incautious word from Rhys.

It was probably obvious anyway.

* * *

 

He was never, ever going to be clean again.

This fact had become apparent to Rhys about ten minutes into scalding the hell out of himself, when his skin still had not stopped crawling and his arm had started itching. It was a nasty habit the metal limb had, a phantom sensation that couldn't be gotten rid of by any physical means. His arm was only itching inside his head, and he hadn't yet found a way to scratch his brain.

One other thing the shower had made apparent was that his back and legs were one big mass of puncture wounds that stung like hell when touched by soap. In some ways, the pain had been welcome—it reminded him, at any rate, that getting back in the chair was  _ not _ a viable option for making the mess in his head quiet down, no matter  _ how _ tempting it was.

Climbing back into his same dirty clothes after showering felt counter-productive, but then again the entire attempt had been counter-productive, and it wasn't like there was anything else to wear. He shuffled back into the main room, gaze lowered, idly rubbing the palm of his right hand.

"He lives," Fiona noted. "And here I was, thinking you might have accidentally drowned yourself."

Rhys shrugged this off and tottered over to what was, apparently, going to be his bed. He stared at it for a moment while he tried to remember what to do with beds. He was having trouble getting past the drowning. It wasn't very much different from strangling. He rubbed his palm some more.

"—Rhys?"

He gave up on figuring out what beds were for and turned around. Both women were regarding him cautiously, and in the corner, Gortys was half-hiding behind the mini-fridge.

"Huh?" he said. "I wasn't. . . . Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"I think the answer's  _ no," _ Fiona said to Sasha.

Gortys thumped over, head tipped to the side. "You look different," she said. "Did you do something with your hair?"

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, and the trench of that habit was cut deep enough that it jolted him back to himself.

"I um," he said, "I'm uh . . . sorry. About—all this."

"Yeah?" said Fiona. "Well good, you should be. How long, exactly, have you had a psychopath hitchhiking in your head? 'Cause, it would've been  _ really _ nice to know that before now."

"Um," said Rhys, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "technically . . . since, about, when I . . . plugged that stick into my head and uh, passed out in your caravan."

"Oh. Fantastic. That's just  _ great. _ And you didn't think, during  _ all _ this time, that  _ maaaybe _ you could've  _ mentioned _ it?"

Rhys shrugged and wrapped his arms around his middle. "I told Vaughn," he said, as though that made things any better. "Besides, you would've thought I was crazy. You  _ did _ think I was crazy."

"Yeah, that's because you went around talking to yourself and acting really  _ weird," _ Fiona retorted.

"You seemed pretty crazy," Sasha agreed. "But . . . we knew  _ something _ was wrong. You could've told us."

"And  _ you _ didn't have to live with him  _ bitching _ at you all day for looking at somebody sideways," Rhys snapped. "For all I knew, if I told you, he'd make me stra-haaa. . . ." His head started spinning again, and he had to sit down. His fingernails made quiet  _ scritch _ ing noises against his shoulder.

_ "Make _ you what, strangle us in our sleep?" Fiona demanded. "I'd like to see him try."

_ "I _ wouldn't," Rhys muttered.

"Oh," said Fiona, her face falling. "Uh. Right."

"Nice," Sasha commented.

"Hey, don't  _ you _ start."

"Just doing my sisterly duty of making  _ sure _ you know when you're being an ass."

Rhys's train of thought jumped tracks again, possibly because it had noted an oncoming precipice.

"So, wait, where have you two  _ been? _ I thought they would've just, thrown you in prison. Or, y'know, out an airlock."

"That seems to be a theme around here," Fiona said.

"Yeah, it—it's a thing."

"Well, okay, so basically: Jack showed up and made this big, grandiose announcement about you being President now, and Yv—uh, the guards that were with us—"

"We got caught," Sasha put in.

"Right, yeah, before that we got caught.  _ But, _ anyway, when the . . . thing happened, our uh, guards took us to a little room and just sort of stuck us in there. Didn't even lock the door."

"A couple minutes later, Jack turned up," Sasha said. "On the . . . screen-thingy. Said if one of us didn't get up to his office right away, um. . . ."

"Bad things would happen to you," Fiona said.

"Yeah."

"I'm sure he specified," Rhys mumbled. His fingertips ached from fruitlessly scratching his arm.

"He did," Sasha said. "He . . .  _ really, _ really did." She shook herself. "So I went and got you, and you . . . basically know what happened after that. While you were gone, we went to see if we could find something to eat—since the door wasn't locked and everything, and we didn't want to leave without—"

"Gortys," Fiona interrupted. "We didn't want to leave without Gortys."

Sasha glared at her. "Or you. But then all the . . . stuff happened, and we tried to escape, and—"

"Yeah," Rhys croaked. "I was there for that part."

His ECHO-eye clicked on and drew a whimper from him. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug the fingers of his right hand into his side.

"Rhys?" Sasha asked. "What's going on?"

He shook his head. "I won't," he said.

The eye whirred, and he found himself looking through his own eyelid at the bed. It was highlighted, and bore a note that read,  _ Big Day Tomorrow. _

"I'm . . . going to try and—and get some sleep," he said, keeping his gaze firmly lowered.

"O- _ kay," _ Fiona allowed. "Rhys, is Jack here? Like, right now? Because, if he is, I have some choice four-letter words I'd like to say to him."

"He's everywhere," Rhys said, pulling his legs up onto the bed. "Knock yourself out."

"Great!" she said, then glared at the ceiling. "Hey, jackass. Listen up. One day, I'm gonna come back here with an entire Vault's worth of guns, and you're going to wish you'd stayed dead, you sick, stupid piece of shit."

There was a beat of silence, and then all the lights went out.

"Make that sick, stupid,  _ petty _ piece of shit!" Fiona snarled.

"Stop antagonizing him, Fi," Sasha said.

"For now," she allowed.

"Keep calling him stupid," Rhys suggested, lying down. "It really pisses him off."

A note appeared on his own hand, hovering just over his upturned palm.

_ Now You've Gone And Hurt My Feelings. _

Against his better judgement, he ran a scan. An informatic popped up in red, its edges glitching.

_ JACK-APEDIA: Words Can Be Hurtful _

**_ People I'm Taking It Out On: _ ** _ You _

**_ And Also: _ ** _ Her, eventually. _

**_ Why Don't You: _ ** _ Have more friends that I can kill seriously be more social. _

**_ How You're Going To Kill Her: _ ** _ Last, so she can watch her little sister die. Also there will be knives. And strangling. It's going to take a while. I'll be sure to clear your schedule. _

Rhys closed the informatic and curled his hand into a fist.

"Do your worst, asshole," he muttered, and pulled the covers up to his chin.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Rhys screamed.

He hadn't gotten tired of it, even if no one could hear him—with the exception of Jack, who didn't really count, since he was the one making him scream in the first place.

The exterior plates of his arm lay strewn on Jack's desk, interspersed with tiny screws, and more pieces were joining them. Currently, Jack had a screwdriver in Rhys's wrist and was, for all intents and purposes, using it to tear the tendons off of his bones.

"That hurt?" he inquired through Rhys's mouth. His voice shook, and he was sweating, but otherwise he didn't seem to be in much distress.

"What do _you_ think?" Rhys snapped, although it came out as more of a whimper. The fact that his mouth didn't move when he talked had stopped bothering him about the same time that Jack had started unscrewing pieces of him. Jack could hear him anyway, and maybe eventually the screaming would get annoying.

"I dunno, Rhysie, it's _your_ arm. I don't know how these things work. It'd be—hah, it'd be downright _cruel_ to give somebody, like, actual _sensation_ in one of these things. Just in case something like this happened. Ohohoh, _man,_ that'd _suck._ Like getting your actual arm ripped up one piece at a time, only afterwards I get to put it back together again. Or, somebody does, it seems like a lot of work. Who designed this model? I wanna give 'em a raise."

"How is this not hurting you?" he demanded. The more Jack was talking, the less he was unscrewing.

"What makes you think it's not? It's been so _long_ since I've been in excruciating agony. I kinda missed it." Another twist of the screwdriver, and Rhys screamed again. "Nah, but seriously, this is chump-change compared to some of the shit I've been through. Not _my_ fault you're a big baby." Rhys had not stopped screaming, because the screwdriver had not stopped turning and it was like having his bones drilled into. "Besides, it is _so_ worth it."

"You vindictive . . . _asshole,"_ Rhys panted. His physical body wasn't particularly out of breath, but he was having trouble putting words together and it was about the same end result.

"Still haven't answered me, y'know," Jack mentioned. The screw came out, and Jack pulled off another piece of arm, tearing up the fine network of sensory filaments. Rhys's leg kicked the desk, mostly involuntarily. It hurt so badly that he couldn't even scream—his head filled up with static and he teetered at the brink of unconsciousness, whimpering.

Jack held still until Rhys came back, gasping and crying and _begging_ for it to stop, hardly able to put two words together but filling in the spaces with a steady clamor of _please, please, God, please._

"How 'bout it, Rhys?" Jack asked. "Does that hurt?"

 _"Yes,"_ he choked out.

"Oh _goody,"_ said Jack, pulling Rhys's face into a grin. "'Cause, you didn't scream that time, and I kinda missed it. C'mon, let's—let's try again, try and do it _right_ this time."

_No no no no no no no no no—_

The screwdriver stabbed into his palm and started boring into a metacarpal. He screamed.

"Sensing a little negativity from you there, kiddo. Got anything you wanna say to me? Starts with an _n,_ ends with an _o,_ gets your friends killed. That floating around in there somewhere?"

There were endless clever responses to that, but Rhys couldn't get to any of them because the world had gone white with pain and his ears were ringing with the sound of his own screams.

"Ah, it's fine, I'll let it slide. Don't say I never did anything nice for you." The screw came out, and Rhys sagged, gasping.

"Jack, please," he pleaded. "Please, _stop."_

"You called me stupid," he pointed out. The tip of the screwdriver rested against bare nerve endings, and Rhys flinched. "I really, _really_ don't like it when people call me stupid. But you knew that. So really, when you think about it, which one of us is the stupid one?"

"I—I am."

Jack raised Rhys's eyebrows. "Well whaddaya know, something finally made it through that thick skull of yours. Bra- _vo,_ Rhysie! I'm gonna get you a gold star!"

"Will you—please—stop."

The screwdriver tapped his palm. He whimpered.

"No no no. I like where this conversation is going. Talk to me about how dumb you are, and I'm talkin' _allll_ the gritty little details."

Rhys pulled himself together and went out on a limb.

"I c-can't talk while you're . . . tearing up my arm," he said.

"Yeah? Well guess what I'm not doing right now. And if you start talking, I might—just _might—_ get entertained enough to let you keep doing it. You see—you see what I'm saying? Here? With the—the threatening. That making it through? 'Cause I can demonstrate, since you're, hah, y'know, _not talking."_

He gulped, casting about for a place to start.

"I—I sh-should have . . . worked with you," he said. Jack was dragging the screwdriver back and forth across his palm, and the pain was keeping his thoughts from attaining cohesion. "From the start. Y-you were right, you were always right—"

"Uh-huh, _specifics._ Come on, sweetheart, you're phoning it in!"

If Rhys had had his body on hand, he would have thrown up.

"With the drones. A-and—and telling Vaughn, I shouldn't've told Vaughn about you, I should—should have trusted you to—"

"Blah blah blah, I _know_ all that. You're boring me to death here."

"I don't know what you _want,"_ Rhys said, on the verge of tears.

Rhys's face grinned again. "Oh, I'm getting it right now. Keep going, this is hilarious. And pathetic. I almost feel sorry for you. A-almost, almost."

"I don't see the point of aaa _aaaaah!"_

Jack had jammed the screwdriver between two knuckles and was drawing slow circles in the air with the handle. Rhys writhed inside his own skin, unable to move, blind with agony that just kept _going_ and _going_ and _going._

"You don't see the _point?"_ Jack demanded, his voice hoarse and shaking. "The _point,_ you obstinate little idiot, is that I had to spend _weeks_ kissing up to a no-name cyborg _freak,_ living in your _stupid_ walnut head and putting up with your _stupid_ gooey friendship _bullshit,_ and it was _torture,_ and I—" he jerked the screwdriver, dislocating Rhys's finger— "am _paying back—"_ another sharp jerk, and the servo in his knuckle cracked open— "the friggin' _favor!"_

Jack yanked down on the screwdriver, and there was a terrible _crack,_ and Rhys's finger snapped off, and he finally, _finally_ blacked out.

* * *

 

At five in the morning, Fiona had woken briefly, just long enough to see Rhys slip out the door. At the time, she hadn't even thought about trying to follow him—sleep was more important, and anyway, there wasn't much she could do.

It was now the other five o'clock, and she was starting to wish she had.

"I'm going to go nuts," she moaned. She was lying on her back, tossing her hat at the ceiling and catching it again.

"Ugh. Join the club. I thought you said planning was going to take up all of our spare time?"

"Yeah, well, if you have the brainpower left to plan, be my guest. I'm fried."

Sasha sighed. "Nothing that I didn't have two hours ago. It's no so much being out of brainpower, it's just being out of _options,_ you know?"

She nodded. "Hard to plan when you don't know anything. Also _frustrating._ And as much as I'd _love_ to punch a hole in the wall, I don't wanna break my hand."

"Maybe I could help?" Gortys chimed in. "I don't know a lot, but I know some stuff! Also I could _definitely_ punch the wall. Grr! Walls can't hurt me!"

Fiona cracked a smile. "Sure, okay. What kind of stuff do you know, Gortys?"

"Ohhh, stuff about . . . _me,_ and Atlas, and—ooh! And the Vault!"

Fiona shared a glance with Sasha.

"Vault sounds interesting," Sasha said.

"Good choice! It's _really_ cool. _The Vault of the Traveler,_ what a neat name, huh? I guess they call it that because it moves around so much—like I told . . . um. . . ."

Gortys wound down. She laced her tiny fingers together and fixed her gaze on them, shrinking down into herself.

"I remember," Sasha said. "You said it only ever stays in one place for a few minutes before moving on, but that you could hold it still."

"Uh . . . y-yeah! Yeah, that's right!" Her brightness was less than sincere. "And then everybody can go in and get all the treasure. What kind of treasure do you think it is?"

"Judging by what I saw on the VIP tour," Fiona said, "a really big monster with a lot of tentacles."

"That's an _awesome_ treasure!" Gortys cried. She looked back and forth between Sasha and Fiona. "Um . . . isn't it?"

"It's . . . not my first choice," Sasha admitted. "But, hey, maybe we could turn the big monster loose on Hyperion. That would be a pretty good reward."

"Yeah," Fiona mused. "Yeah, it would." She sat up and turned to Gortys. "When you . . . do your thing. With the Vault. Do you have to be in some specific _place,_ or can you just bring it anywhere?"

Gortys frowned. "I'm not sure. I haven't tried to use the beacon yet, so I don't know if it'll work just anywhere. But, probably it will! I don't see why not."

A smile tugged at the corner of Fiona's lips. "That's good. That could be really helpful."

"Uh, okay, I believe you," Sasha said, "but you have a _look._ What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, if Hyperion wants this Vault so bad, why don't we bring it to them?"

"Because they'll . . . kill us?" Sasha guessed.

"Not if we open up the Vault right outside their front door," Fiona said. "I'm willing to bet the thing is stuffed _full_ of monsters. That's what they always said about Vaults, right? Too many monsters to be worth it. And correct me if I'm wrong, but there aren't any Vault-Hunters on Helios."

A slow grin spread across Sasha's face. "Which means the Vault monsters would tear this place to shreds."

Gortys bounced in place. "Ooh, this sounds so _fun!_ But, um, one little _teensy_ thing: how do we get outside? And how do we keep the monsters from tearing _us_ up? Oops, sorry, that was two things. Okay, _two_ little teensy things: how do we get outside and how do we keep the monsters from getting us?"

Fiona opened her mouth, then closed it again. "That's . . . a good point. We'll have to think about those some more. Gortys, I don't think you'll be in danger, because . . . uh, because. . . ."

"Because the monsters will want to keep the door open," Sasha filled in. "So they won't want to hurt you."

"Great! But what about you two? And Rhys, and August and Finch and Kroger?"

"To _hell_ with them," Fiona snapped.

"Fi!" Sasha cried, scandalized.

"I mean it. I'm not sticking my neck out to save any of them."

"What about Loader Bot?"

"I—okay, we'll take him with us when we leave. But the _rest_ of them can fend for themselves."

"I'm not leaving without Rhys," Sasha declared.

 _"What?_ Since _when?_ He dug himself this hole, now he gets to live in it. If he gets killed by Vault monsters, that's his _own_ stupid fault."

"I'm not worried about him getting killed," Sasha said. "I'm worried about what happens to him if he doesn't."

Fiona stared. Sasha folded her arms and looked away.

"What I'm saying is . . . nobody deserves to be stuck with Handsome Jack."

She searched her head for a clever retort, but couldn't find one, so she just shook her head.

"And what _I'm_ saying is, we don't have the luxury of looking out for other people anymore. It's us or them, Sasha. And it's damn well gonna be us."

Sasha looked, for a moment, as if she was going to disagree—whether or not she would have became moot when the door hissed open.

Fiona spun, lurching to her feet. The temptation to make a break for it and damn the consequences was almost overwhelming. Behind her, Sasha gasped, and Gortys said, "Uh-oh."

Rhys shuffled in, wearing a thousand-yard stare and a sharp black suit. His right hand gleamed silver in the soft lighting, and his eyes were flat and dead.

The door hissed shut behind him and he ground to a halt, swaying on his feet.

"Rhys?" Sasha quavered.

He blinked once, slowly, and his fingers twitched.

"Okay," Fiona said, "this is _officially_ the creepiest thing that's ever happened to me."

Gortys sidled up to him and nudged his leg.

"Whatcha looking at?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she reached up and waved a hand through the space in front of his eyes. She looked over her shoulder at Fiona, confused. "Is he broken?"

"Apparently," Fiona intoned. "Hey. _Rhys._ Helloooo, anybody in there?"

Sasha went the way of Gortys and approached him sideways.

"He's really pale," she said.

"Uh-huh, that happens when you never see the sun. Sasha, why don't you . . . just, come away from there."

Sasha glared at her over her shoulder, then turned back to Rhys.

"Hey," she said. She reached up and touched his shoulder.

Rhys _blurred._ One second he was swaying on his feet like a busted animatronic, and the next, Sasha was on the floor and he was wedged into the corner of the room, cradling his arm to his chest and vibrating.

Fiona's vision went red and she went for him. She threw a fist into his nose and felt something crack, drove a knee into his gut and let him crumple, and then started kicking him as hard as she could, until someone grabbed her around the waist and physically hauled her off of him.

"Stop! Sis, _stop it!"_

"He _hit_ you!" Fiona snarled. "The little skag turd _hit_ you! I'm gonna kill him!"

Blood was dribbling from Rhys's nose and dripping off his lips, his breath whistled in his throat, and still he was curled around his right arm like it was a newborn child.

"He's _scared!"_ Sasha retorted.

"He'd better be!"

"Everybody stop yelling!" Gortys cried.

Fiona did not have an immediate retort to this, so she was forced to take a breath and stay quiet for half a second.

Rhys was whimpering to himself, just on the edge of hearing, just the words _no more_ over and over again, and his voice was raw and hoarse.

The blind rage drained away and left Fiona with a cold ball in the pit of her stomach. She extracted herself from Sasha's arms, but kept one hand on her elbow.

"What . . ." she began, "what did they _do_ to him?"

Sasha shook her head. "I don't want to know," she answered.

Fiona looked down at the quivering, pitiful mess on the floor.

"Is this . . . because of last night?" she wondered. "Because of what we . . . what _I_ said?"

"No," said Sasha. "No way."

"Um," Gortys put in, "um, what do we do?"

Fiona looked over at Sasha—her lip was split, but otherwise, she was none the worse for wear—and then back at Rhys, who was still pleading under his breath.

"I think," she said, "we stand back and hope."

 


	7. Chapter 7

The following days blurred together, so well-mixed that Rhys could hardly tell it had been more than just one day. The only thing that tipped him off was that Jack and come and gone twice. It was hard to forget that baseball-bat-to-the-face, cattle-prod-to-the-spine feeling. He got the impression, in the meantime, that Fiona and Sasha and Gortys were trying to talk to him. He never responded, because the best possible outcome was that he _didn't_ say anything that got them killed, and/or encouraged Jack to hurt him again.

Which, in all fairness, Jack had not done. He had mocked Rhys's docile silence, praised his obedience, and eventually started asking increasingly objectionable favors, all of which Rhys agreed to, quietly and without reservation.

It was driving Jack up the wall.

When Rhys came in on the morning of the third day—precisely on time, because where else would he go?—Jack was leaning on his desk, smirking.

"Wellll, and a good morning to you, too, cupcake! Hey, c'mon, sit down, I got you something, you're gonna love it."

 _Ah,_ Rhys thought, trekking to the desk. _So this is the part where someone dies._

Jack patted the chair, and Rhys sat in it. There was no tingling rush of well-being, and Rhys, deadened and diluted though he was, started to get scared.

"Yeah," Jack gloated, looking down at him, "no happy chems for you today. 'Cause you won't need 'em! I'm serious, I'm serious. You're gonna love this. Oooh, man, I'm so _excited!"_

"What is it?" Rhys asked, more because he felt he was supposed to than because he was actually curious.

"I'm _so_ glad you asked!" Jack crowed. He jumped up onto the desk and spread his arms. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and _everybody_ else, all the way from Pan- _dora,_ let's hear it for the nerdliest of nerds, the buffest of buffoons, it's _Vauuuuughn!"_

On cue, the huge doors at the end of the room slid open. Silhouetted by the bright light of the hallway, dwarfed by the giant doorframe, was, indeed, Vaughn.

"Holy crap," he breathed, padding inside. "Oh, wow, holy _crap,_ this is so _cool._ I'm in—I'm really in the office. _The_ office. Hah! Hahah!"

Something horrible and violent was building up inside of Rhys, filling the hollow spaces and threatening to shatter him. He stared at Vaughn, motionless.

"Say _hi,_ Rhys," Jack prompted.

Vaughn caught sight of him and burst into a grin like sunrise. He darted across the room, pulling up short just on the other side of Jack's desk and jigging in place.

"Rhys! Holy crap, look at _you!_ You—you made it! You made it, man! Oh my God, this—this is huge, we're—we're gonna have to get a keg, and invite, like, everyone we know, especially the people we don't like so we can laugh at them, we're— _aah!_ I just can't _handle_ how awesome this is!"

Vaughn took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. When he looked back at Rhys—unmoved, unmoving—his smile shrank by a few teeth.

"Uh, Rhys? You're kind of, um, not reacting. A-at all. I mean, I was like, _super_ happy when the shuttle came down to get me, a-and I'm really grateful, but, uh . . . I sort of thought this was, like, a celebration? 'Cause, we—we won? Everything we ever wanted, that kind of thing?"

"Ah, come on, Rhysie, you're making him sad," Jack said. "Say something."

Vaughn's smile had gone entirely, and his face was now pinched with concern.

"Rhys, is something . . . wrong?"

The thing that had been gaining momentum inside of him finally shattered through the dead exterior, and Rhys burst out laughing. He folded over, clutching his belly and struggling to breathe.

"Uhh," said Vaughn. _"Uhh._ Okay, you're, like, _really_ creeping me out now. Severely. Why—why are you laughing, what's so funny?"

"I'm gonna kill myself," Rhys gasped out, and dissolved into helpless mirth again.

 _"Thaaaat's_ not normal. That's not okay. That is really super-duper not okay. What the hell is going _on,_ Rhys? Stop—hey, stop laughing, it's not—this isn't funny!"

"Yeah, you're being really creepy," Jack agreed. "I'd quit it, if I were you. And don't—talk about killing yourself, you're making me nervous."

The laughter cut off as suddenly as if someone had turned off a tap. Rhys stayed hunched over, staring at his knees, his arms wrapped around his middle.

"Heeeyyy," Vaughn said. He had come around the desk and was halfway reaching out to Rhys. "Okay, so things are . . . not so great. Let's, um, let's—here, get . . . get out of the chair, I think there're donuts in the break room. Real Hyperion donuts? Missed 'em, right? I sure did."

"Why are you here?" Rhys whispered.

"Uh, duh," Jack said. "Because you got _boring,_ that's why."

"You . . . sent a shuttle for me?" Vaughn guessed. "Un-unless that . . . wasn't. You. Oh, _crap."_

A crazed little giggle slipped past Rhys's lips, and he dug his fingers into his side.

Vaughn crouched next to the chair and spoke in hushed tones.

"Is it Jack? It is, isn't it. Rhys, what _happened?_ Come on, talk to me, bro."

"Does he know I can hear him?" Jack wondered. "A-actually, hang on, there's a better way to do this."

There was a faint fizzle as the hologram disappeared, and then the huge screen over the door popped to life and displayed Jack's face, grinning.

"We- _hell,_ if it's not the buff nerd himself!"

Vaughn jumped a good foot in the air and screamed. Rhys buried his face in his knees while Jack laughed.

"It's—oh my God, it's _you._ Rhys, it's _him,_ it's—holy crap. Holy crap!"

"Yeah yeah, starstruck, I'm sure. Hey, listen—"

"You _jerk!"_ Vaughn cried. Rhys bolted upright in horror. Vaughn was shaking a fist at the screen. "You—you evil . . . _person!_ What did you do to Rhys?"

Jack gaped at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The whole room rang with the sound of it, and Rhys could feel it shivering in the floor.

"Oh, ohoh, are—are you _seeing_ this? Is this—is this for real? This-this-this little . . . code-monkey, is trying to—to intimidate me, what? What are you even doing?"

Rhys could see Vaughn shaking, even as he glared defiantly at Jack.

"I'm—I'm asking what you did to my—my best friend. Because you did _something._ I know you did!"

"Un-frickin-believable," Jack remarked, grinning. "Look at this guy. Yeah, hate to break it to you, dweebus, but I don't _answer_ questions from little nobodies like you. In fact, the only reason I haven't stuffed you in an airlock and blown you into space is because I'm saving you for later. Y'know. So I can make _el presidente_ over there strangle you up close and personal."

Vaughn choked on his own throat. He took a step to the side, as though to place himself between Jack and Rhys.

"You—you can't do that," he said.

"Shut up, Vaughn," Rhys sighed, hanging his head.

"He can't _do_ that!"

"He _can,"_ Rhys replied through gritted teeth, "and if you keep saying he _can't,_ he's going to demonstrate. Shut _up,_ Vaughn."

Vaughn turned to him, eyes wide and searching. "But—but—we can't just _let_ him—"

"Yes, we can," Rhys said. "And we're going to, because it's the only thing that's going to keep you _alive."_

"Aww, look at the widdle buddies, surrendering to the inevitable together. How cute. Yeah, hate to break up the gooey friendship bullshit, but uh, well, this company isn't going to run itself, y'know what I'm saying."

"You should go," Rhys told Vaughn.

"And leave you here? With _him?_ No way, bro. Not on your life."

The executive override port unfolded from behind the chair. Out of force of habit, Rhys reached up and caught it.

"You _really_ don't want to be here for this," Rhys said.

"I'm not leaving you, man."

 _"I_ really don't want you to be here for this," he amended.

"But . . . come on, at least tell me there's something I can _do."_

"Yeah," said Rhys. "Hop the next shuttle out of here and never come back."

"No way."

 _"All_ right, time's up," Jack said. "Lots to do, Rhysie!"

He shut his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Vaughn."

"Rhys, you can't just—"

The rest of Vaughn's words were lost when Rhys jammed the override port into his head. After the pain and disorientation subsided, he became vaguely aware of a pair of hands on his shoulders.

Jack opened his eyes for him, and grinned at Vaughn.

"Aw, he's all _worried,"_ he mocked.

Vaughn backed away, his face gone slack with horror. Jack stood, dragging Rhys's body along with him.

"This is bad," Vaughn said, shaking his head slowly. "Thiiiiis is like, _super_ bad."

"Nah," said Jack, following him. "This is fine. I mean, y'know, compared to what comes next. You're _re-heally_ not gonna like the part that comes next."

"Oh God," Vaughn breathed. He took one more incautious step back and tripped down the stairs.

Jack laughed, and followed him down.

* * *

 

The door hissed open, and Fiona was on her feet in an instant; then she froze, horrified.

Someone was standing in the doorway, wearing Rhys's skin.

"Gortys," Fiona murmured, "hide under the bed and _don't come out_ for anything."

"Okay!" Gortys whispered, and wriggled under the bed.

 _"You,"_ Sasha snarled. Fiona caught her by the arm as she stormed towards not-Rhys, preventing her from getting too close.

Not-Rhys gasped and put a hand to his heart. "She remembers me! I'm flattered, really."

"What are you _doing_ here?" Sasha demanded.

"What, I'm not allowed to drop by and say _hi_ to my two favorite gals?" He stepped inside, and the door closed behind him. His eyes glittered with cold malice. "Oh, did you—did you think I was here to _kill_ you? No no no, that—that comes later. Not that you haven't _earned_ it, but uh, y'know, I gotta have _some_ way of keeping Rhysie here in line. Y'know. _Other_ than disassembling him until the pain makes him pass out. 'Cause then I have to wait for him to wake back up to finish taking him apart. Last time—oh, man, you shoulda been there, it was friggin' hilarious—the poor idiot passed out _three times._ He was all, _waah, Jack, it hurts, please God, make it stop!_ Ahh, may—maybe you had to be there. You had to be there. I think I'm gonna do the eye next, how much mileage do you think I'll get outta that? It's not gonna take as long as the arm did, but I figure it'll hurt a _lot_ worse, so _eh,_ it's worth doing."

"You're sick," Fiona said. Her stomach was churning.

Not-Rhys winked at her. "Fortunately, they make drugs for that. So, _so_ so so many drugs. But that's for after I run out of robot parts to screw around with. Hey, e-either of you two know if those glowy Pandoran mushrooms do anything fun? 'Cause, I kinda always wanted to try it, but uh, y'know, the ol' meat-suit was a lot less _disposable_ back then. _Now,_ though, hoo _buddy_ am I gonna get blitzed."

"Why are you _here?"_ Sasha demanded.

"Oh yeah, right, right, the uh, actual business. Fine, yeah, we can do business. If you're, y'know, _really sure_ that's what you want."

Fiona sidled in between not-Rhys and Sasha.

"If you want to do business," she said, "then, okay. Let's do business."

Not-Rhys grinned like his teeth were made of razors. He sauntered over to Fiona and threw an arm around her shoulder. She resisted the urge to deck him.

"All right, sweetheart, here's the deal: as of right now, you work for me. So uh, first of all, congrats! You're livin' the dream."

"Jack," she warned.

"That's Mr. President to you," he corrected, mirthful. "A-anyway, anyway. Your job, starting right now, _iiiiis—_ wait for it—corporate espionage, like you've never seen before!"

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Sasha demanded. He turned to her, dewey-eyed and smirking.

"I am _so glad_ you asked that. What it means—for you, in a practical kind of way—is that you're gonna get _reaaaal_ nice and friendly with all the assholes who were trying to take my place. And you're gonna pick the ones who are _still_ trying to eat their way to the top of the rat-pile, and you're gonna send them to me. And then I'll kill 'em."

"No!" Fiona cried, shoving him away from her. _"Hell_ no! We're not—"

"Ah-tat-tat! You didn't let me _finish._ Let me _finish_ before you start saying dumb shit. If you _don't_ take my (incredibly generous) offer, theeeeen I strangle you both here and now, because you're useless to me."

"What, we're not _blackmail_ anymore?" said Sasha.

"Ehhh, I mean _technically,_ but now I have a _waaaay_ better card. And by card I mean person. And by person I mean Vaughn. I'm—I'm gonna stab the shit out of Vaughn. Y'know. Whenever Rhysie slips up next."

"Yeah? And how're you going to do that when he's all the way down on Pandora?"

"Pan—Pandora? Hahah, you think—ohh, no. Nah, the little idiot came running right back home as soon as I sent him a shuttle. They always do. 'Cause anywhere's better than Pandora, I mean, am I right? I'm right. Bottom line: ol' iron-abs is right where I want him. Within stabbing range. Which brings me back to my original point. You either take the offer, orrrr I kill you. Tough decision, I know. Take your time."

The pistol was warm against Fiona's wrist. She glanced at Sasha, but her attention was focused on not-Rhys.

"Okay," Sasha said, drawing herself up. "We'll . . . take your offer."

Grinning, Rhys turned to her and spread his hands. "See, I knew you were sensible p—"

Fiona sprung the gun out, pointed it at his head, and fired.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Something behind him went _snikt,_ and his knee hit the ground so hard it sent a shock all the way up to his hip, and then there was a _crack,_ painfully loud, and then Jack shoved him upright and spun and his right hand closed around Fiona's wrist.

"Cute," said Jack.

Fiona gaped at him for a moment, eyes wide and fearful, before her face settled into its usual disgusted scowl.

"Let _go_ of me," she said, jerking on her arm. Jack tightened his grip, ever so slightly. Under Rhys's palm, something went _ping._ Fiona froze.

"Sure, yeah, let me just give you another chance to shoot me. 'Cause, hah, I'm an idiot, right? That's what you said, I mean, isn't it?" He pitched his voice to a flighty falsetto and mocked, _"Oh, Jack's so stupid, I bet he'll let me blow his brains out if I just ask real nicely._ No no no no no. Hah. No. You had your turn, and I beat you fair and square. Well. Square, anyway. So now, _now,_ it's my turn."

"Jack—" Sasha began, taking a slow step forward.

"Yeah yeah, send me a memo, sweetheart, I'm busy."

"Let _go_ of me, you asshole," Fiona spat, and kicked Rhys in the shin.

Jack winched his grip another notch tighter. There was a metallic crunching noise, and Fiona yelped and jerked her arm again. Blood started to seep through her sleeve.

"Nah," he said, grinning.

Sasha cannoned into him, her hands closing around Rhys's wrist.

 _"Stop it!"_ she snarled, yanking on him. "You made your point, now let her go!"

"Babe, if you don't get your hands off me in the next three seconds, I'm gonna rip your big sister's arm off and beat you to death with it."

"Do what he says!" Fiona gasped, panicked. With a cry of frustration, Sasha shoved herself back from Rhys. Her hands balled into fists, and her expression conveyed only rage.

"Better," Jack praised, and turned Rhys's eyes back to Fiona. "Still gonna break your wrist, though."

Jack _squeezed,_ and there was a very _non_ -metallic crunching noise. Fiona screamed, and her legs went out from under her, dropping her to her knees. Rhys's face pulled into a grin.

"Now see, this is the kind of shit you get yourself into when you try and kill me. I-hi mean, come on, you think nobody's ever tried to shoot me in the back before? You're not special, babe, and you're _definitely_ not smart. But you're gonna figure that out for yourself pretty soon, because when I kill you, you're gonna have _pleeeeeenty_ of time to think about your choices."

"No!" Sasha snapped. "I'm not going to let you hurt her!"

"Wooooow," Jack drawled. "I'm so intimidated. It's like, man, I was really looking forward to getting _inventive_ with your big sister, but you're not gonna let me! Now I'll never be able to hurt her."

He squeezed again, and there was more crunching. Fiona's fingers twitched, and she bit back another scream.

"How stupid _are_ you two?" Jack demanded. "It's not that hard! You act like a dick to me, and _I kill you._ Didn't think it was that complicated, but you two— _you_ two really think I'm not gonna do it. Is it the face? I bet it's the face, this idiot looks like he couldn't kill a tin can. Gonna have to fix that. Now, I thought, hah, silly me, that I'd made it really, _super_ obvious that I'm not screwing around. Showed you a whole movie on the big screens, too. But I _guess_ I'm gonna have to demonstrate _again,_ because it didn't take the first time."

 _Jack, please,_ Rhys begged. Jack ignored him.

"Go to hell, you . . . you maniac," Fiona growled.

"Maniac. Really? That—that's what you're going with. Maniac. Huh. No, no no, it's fine. You're gonna have time to think up something better. Tell you what, I'll even float your last words on a great big billboard in space, so you can be as pathetic as that little grease-monkey you got killed."

Simultaneously, Fiona and Sasha both threw themselves at Rhys, snarling.

Jack pivoted to his right and let Fiona's momentum slam her headlong into Sasha. Both women fell, although Jack was still holding Fiona up by her wrist. Casually, he kicked Sasha in the head, and she went still.

"So, this is going well," Jack remarked, smiling down at Fiona. "Hey, so, I—I think I'm just gonna beat the hell out of you, 'cause, _man,_ I'm really pissed off. But, hey, if you're still alive at the end of it, I _promise_ I'll get around to the knives."

"You're sick," Fiona gasped, struggling to get her feet underneath her.

"First I'm stupid, then I'm a maniac, now I'm sick? You have _really_ gotta work on your insult game, 'cause I am honestly disappointed."

 _Jack, this won't help,_ Rhys said, tugging at him.

"Yeah, it'll help _me,_ so shut up."

"Rhys?" Fiona asked, lifting her eyes. There was a horrible, ugly spark of hope in her voice.

"Waah, Rhys, help," Jack mocked. "Yeah, he can't do anything. Except be kind of annoying, which is just gonna piss me off more. A-and even if he _could,_ y'know, _do_ anything, he wouldn't, 'cause he's a little bitch. Now c'mon, say—say something really annoying, the first hit's the most important one and I wanna make it _count."_

"No," Fiona said.

Jack shrugged. "Works for me," he said, and drove Rhys's boot into her stomach.

* * *

 

"Wait! Wait, no, stop!"

Her eyes watering, Fiona looked over to the bed, where Gortys was clambering out into the light.

"Don't," Fiona wheezed. Breathing was difficult, and the searing pain in her wrist kept her thoughts shallow and scattered.

"Ohhh," said not-Rhys—Jack, she reminded herself, that's Handsome Jack, the bastard. "I was wondering where you went. Yeah, kind of in the middle of something here, sweetheart."

He kicked her again and knocked her breath out. It was probably supposed to break a rib, and Fiona briefly thanked her lucky stars that Rhys was such a wet noodle.

"No! Don't hurt her!"

Rhys's—Jack's—hand tightened on her wrist, and she hissed out a breath through gritted teeth.

"'Kay, uh, robot? I get that you're important or whatever. But I'm in the _middle_ of something, and if you interrupt me again, I'm gonna crunch your stupid little head. Got it?"

"I—I—oh, but—but I can't get the Vault if Fiona, um, gets . . . dead. Or—or Rhys!"

Jack's eye twitched.

"Quit laughing, you creep," he muttered. "And uh, robot—"

"Her name is Gortys," Fiona croaked. Jack kicked her in the jaw, and stars exploded across her vision. Dimly, she heard Jack start talking again.

"Yeah, see, the thing is, I don't believe you. I-I-I get, right, that they're like your—your what, robo-parents, or something, but come _on._ What's the point of a robot you can't use just 'cause some random jackass kicks the bucket? Even Atlas isn't _that_ dumb."

He hesitated. "A-actually, Atlas might be that dumb. They're pretty friggin' dumb. Well, _were."_

"Please, Mr. Handsome Jack, sir, don't hurt her anymore," Gortys pleaded.

"Not worth the risk," Fiona agreed, trying to get her feet under her.

"Nobody _asked_ you," Jack snapped. His leg twitched, and Fiona flinched. He laughed. "Oh, God, that never gets old. Y-yeah, okay, fine, you get to live, hat girl."

"Gee, thanks," she drawled.

The predatory grin that split Rhys's face was as unnatural as it was unnerving.

"Yeah, I'm still gonna beat the ever-loving hell outta you, though. But hey! Now you get to enjoy your broken bones for _muuuuuuch_ longer."

"Where's Vaughn?" Fiona blurted. It was the first thing that came into her head, and she was desperate to stall.

"Where's—where's Vaughn. Whe-heh-here's _Vaughn._ Really? Is that—is that the best you can do? 'Cause, _wow,_ even Rhys did better than that. Y'know, in terms of distracting me. _Where's Vaughn._ Seriously? That's just—that's embarrassing."

Gortys tip-toed over and tugged on Jack's pant leg.

"Um," she said.

Snarling, Jack relinquished his hold on Fiona's wrist and reeled back to kick Gortys. She collapsed into herself, and Jack scuffed his foot against the floor, stopping just short of delivering the blow.

"No, no no no, I'm cool, I'm calm," he said to no one, his voice thin and flighty. "I wasn't gonna _break_ her, I was just gonna _kick_ her a little. A-Atlas stuff is tough, y'know? No big deal."

Fiona struggled back to her feet, holding her useless right hand close against her body.

"Sounds like _somebody's_ got some anger issues," she said.

"Hah. Haha. Oh, you're just a little _tart,_ aren't you? Y'know, I-I-I don't think you need your tongue to make this whole _Gortys_ thing work. Do you? Nah, hahah, no, you don't. So I'm just gonna—rip it out! Won't that be _fun."_

Fiona backed away. There was a crazed gleam in Rhys's eyes, and his smile was twitching.

"No," she said, "no, it won't. That's not fun for anybody but psychos."

Jack shrugged. "Ehh, you know, those little guys got somethin' going for 'em, I'll—I'll give 'em that. They know how to have a good time, right? Yeah, yeah I'm right."

He stepped forward. Fiona found the wall with her back.

_"No."_

Gortys leapt over Jack's head and landed heavily between him and Fiona, tiny fists balled.

"If you want to hurt her, you have to go through me! A-and then you won't get the Vault at all, because you're just a—a big meanie!"

Jack blinked at her.

"Seriously?" he said. "Is this—is this seriously happening to me. The friggin' _robot_ decides to be a hero for the _wrong side."_

"You don't know anything about heroes," Fiona spat.

"Ahah. Hoo, boy, you just keep _digging_ and _digging,_ don't you. I think once I have the Vault, Iiii'm gonna go back to Pandora, right, and I'm gonna—hahah—I'm gonna rain _hellfire_ on that stinking cesspit you call a hometown, what was it called? Ehh, doesn't matter, 'cause when I'm done with it, it'll be called _greasy stain._ And _then,_ I'm gonna install one of these babies—" he tapped the port in Rhys's temple— "in you, and I'm gonna make you strangle your little sister. And if you're _reeeaaal_ lucky, I'll be busy enough that I'll just kill you after that. But you're probably not gonna be lucky, I'm just gonna go ahead and say that."

"I think you should leave," Gortys said, then hastily appended, "Mr. President sir."

"You think I should— _you_ think _I_ should leave?"

"Yeah! Because—because I'll fight you! A-a-and you're only part robot, and I'm _alll_ robot! Grr!"

Jack rolled his eyes and put a hand over his face. "Y'know what? Screw it. Juuuuust screw it. I have better things to do than listen to this bullshit."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Fiona said.

"Yuh-huh, laugh it up, babe, you'll be screaming on my floor soon enough." He frowned. "Shut up, I didn't mean it like that. I'm being _threatening_ here and you're _ruining_ it."

Still whining to himself, he turned and strode out of the room, limping slightly.

Fiona sagged, then put a hand on Gortys's head.

"Gortys, you're a hero," she said.

"I am?"

"Definitely. C'mon, let's go check on Sasha."

"Oh! Yes! Ooh, I hope she's okay."

"Me too, Gortys," Fiona said, shuffling over to Sasha's unconscious form. "Me, too."

 


	9. Chapter 9

When Rhys finally resurfaced, he was seated in the chair, and Vaughn was sitting cross-legged on Jack's desk, frowning down at his own hands.

"You were gone a while," Vaughn said. "Like, hours. And, there's like,  _ stuff _ on your hand. I don't wanna say it looks like blood, but. Y'know. It . . . looks a lot like blood."

Rhys's mouth was cotton-dry, but he managed to croak out, "Why are you sitting on the desk?"

"Huh? Oh. I dunno, it just didn't feel right, sitting in the chair, and I didn't want to sit on the  _ floor, _ and the stairs are really far  _ away, _ and there aren't any other  _ chairs, _ and uh . . . yeah." He paused, then added, "Besides, I kind of just wanted to put my butt on Handsome Jack's stuff."

He coughed out something like a laugh. "You know that's a  _ really _ bad idea."

Vaughn shrugged. "Ehh, y'know. I'm probably gonna die anyway, I might as well put my butt all over Handsome Jack's office before I do." He unfolded his legs and stood up, stretching. "So, I mean, can we . . . go? Are we good to leave?"

Heaving himself to his feet, Rhys sighed. "If we're not, we'll know. But, since Jack's gone, I guess we are."

_ Leave _ echoed around in Rhys's head, bouncing back and forth through the gloom.  _ Leave, leave, leave. _

Vaughn reached out to him, hesitated, then pulled his hand back. "You okay, bro? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," said Rhys. "You okay?"

"Am I  _ okay? _ Hell no, I'm not okay." He made a face and pushed his glasses up. "But uh, y'know, I'm alive and not bleeding—as far as I know, although I did, kind of, fall down the stairs, but as far as I  _ know  _ I'm not bleeding—y'know, so . . . so there's that."

"You . . . said there were donuts?" Rhys hazarded.

"Huh? Yeah, I mean, this morning, but they're probably all gone by now.  _ But, _ you are kind of the president, so I'm sure you could get some anyway."

He shook his head. "I don't really. . . ." He trailed off.

"Don't really what, Rhys?"

"Uh. Nothing. Don't worry about it. Let's, um. We should—should probably be getting back."

"Back? To, like, our rooms? You—you gotta be able to get me a better room, right?"

"Sure," Rhys mumbled. "Already have one."

The screen at the far end of the room flickered to life.

"Nuh-uh, cupcake, that's not for him," Jack scolded.

Vaughn jumped, then rounded on the screen. "Have you just been listening this entire time?" he demanded.

"No, I just happened to turn up at just the right moment, what do  _ you _ think, Dum-Dum?"

"He hears everything," Rhys muttered, half to himself.

Jack cackled. "He talks about me like I'm God. I friggin' love it. 'Cause, y'know, I  _ am _ God. Or, close enough."

"If he starts telling us to worship him, I'm  _ walking _ back to Pandora," Vaughn said out of the corner of his mouth.

Rhys shook his head again. There were some unpleasant things floating around in there.

"Are you done with us?" he asked Jack.

"Meh, for now. Go enjoy yourselves, or whatever. Wallow in misery if it floats your boat, I don't care."

"Thanks," Rhys sighed.

_ "Thanks?" _ Vaughn demanded. "You're  _ thanking—" _

"Shut up, Vaughn," said Rhys, and dragged himself to the door. Sputtering, Vaughn hurried after him.

"You two be good now!" Jack called after them. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

The door hissed shut behind them.

"What, like,  _ not  _ killing people?" Vaughn grumbled, as they walked down the long and deserted hallway.

"He can still hear you," Rhys pointed out.

"Okay, you know what? I'm not living in a constant state of paranoia just because that—that  _ jerk _ wants to pretend he's God."

Something in the wall went  _ clunk. _ Vaughn leapt into the air and grabbed Rhys's arm like a magnetic clamp.

_ "What was that?" _ he squeaked, panicked.

"Calm down, Vaughn," Rhys said.

"Uh. Right, no, yeah, I'm calm. He's—hah, I mean, he's not gonna  _ kill _ me."

"Of course he is," Rhys replied. "But you'll have a lot of time to think about it beforehand."

Vaughn went white. "Uh.  _ Uh. _ Was that supposed to be—reassuring? Because, it uh, it really,  _ really _ wasn't."

"No," said Rhys. "But if it makes you feel better, we're all going to die anyway, eventually."

"That . . . does not make me feel better, no."

He shrugged, stepping up to the elevator, and mashed the button. The doors slid open on the instant, and the two of them got inside.

"Rhys," Vaughn said. "Seriously, man. I want to help. Just—tell me what I can do to help."

Rhys sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. "I don't know if there  _ is _ anything you can do. Just . . . I don't know, keep your head down and your mouth shut, and—and look for a way out."

"What, like, a shuttle?"

"Sure."

Vaughn peered at him, frowning. "I'm worried about you, Rhys," he said at last.

"Jack's not going to hurt—well, do anything  _ permanent _ to me," he said.

"It's not Jack I'm worried about," Vaughn muttered.

Rhys swallowed, looking anywhere but at Vaughn.

"I'm not . . . I'm just not, Vaughn. You don't have to worry about it."

"Sorry, bro, but I think I'm probably gonna keep worrying about it anyway, y'know? I mean, just the way you've been talking, it kind of . . . scares me. We're . . . Rhys, we're gonna get out of this, okay? I don't know how, yet, but we'll figure it out."

"Sure," Rhys said again. "Hey, maybe the cafeteria still has some donuts somewhere. We should go check."

Vaughn sighed and hung his head. "Sure, Rhys. Let's do that."

* * *

 

It was less of a plan than a destiny; it was like being controlled by Jack, except the thing controlling Rhys was  _ himself, _ but not himself, because he was already gone, in a sense, already dead and just waiting for his body to catch up.

Vaughn was negotiating for donuts, not paying attention. Rhys's body piloted itself out of the cafeteria, down the maintenance hall, all the way back behind the kitchens and to the airlock, following the schematics on his ECHO-eye. The door took an agonizing minute to open—he wouldn't have minded, except that he could hear Vaughn calling for him, and this wasn't something anyone was supposed to see, especially not Vaughn.

The airlock door hissed open. Rhys stepped in and closed it again.

There was a loud  _ thunk. _

_ "Rhys!" _ Vaughn yelled, pounding his fist against the little circular window. "Rhys, you get back in here  _ right now!" _

Rhys turned, slowly. There was a big red button on the wall that could only possibly do one thing. On the other side of the little window, Vaughn was crying,  _ begging, _ promising him empty things, impossible salvation, and all of it flowed over Rhys like water.

It hardly mattered, because he was already drowning.

Vaughn started trying to open the door, his eyes fixed on Rhys, all those hollow words still spilling from his lips, his voice cracking with desperation.

Rhys smiled at him, and pressed the button.

He was not braced for the explosion of air that would blast him into space, because there would have been no point, not when it was the last thing he would feel, blended with the agony of suffocating and freezing and all the other horrible things that would fill those last seconds and give way to blissful darkness.

So when it didn't come, when Vaughn's scream drifted into silence and then to frantic babbling, Rhys did not snap from the forces of his internal tension.

Instead, he crumbled, slowly, from the bottom up, a hollow shell crushed by the weight of his own existence, and his forehead rested on the floor and he  _ screamed, _ because it wasn't  _ fair _ and it was supposed to be  _ over _ and it was never going to stop, now, his last chance at escape snatched from his fingers and used to beat him down, and he couldn't breathe for it, couldn't see past the tears filling his eyes.

There was a hand on his back, and then Vaughn clutched him so tightly it made his ribs ache, and he must have been speaking because Rhys could feel the words buzzing against his eardrums, but there was no space in his head to comprehend them, not past the grief and the dread and the mounting terror of having to  _ keep going, _ of having to face Jack who would  _ know _ what he had done, of having to watch Vaughn die because of him, because he couldn't do even this one simple thing right—

"Hey."

Jack's voice cut through everything, and forced Rhys's breath out like a punch to the gut. Vaughn clung to him tighter.

"Leave him  _ alone," _ he snarled. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Hey, I didn't  _ do _ anything," Jack retorted, his voice coming tinny through the intercom. "I mean, unless you mean saving his sorry life, which, yeah, is probably more than enough for one day, but this whole shitstorm was  _ his _ idea, not mine. Not that I care if he checks out for all eternity, but I need his meat-suit alive and intact when he does."

"You—you—you son of a  _ bitch!" _ Vaughn spat, clutching Rhys to him.

"Hey, don't bring my mother into this," Jack warned. "A-actually, she  _ was _ kind of a bitch, but that's not the  _ point, _ stop changing the subject."

"Changing—I'm not changing—just go  _ away!" _

"What, and leave Rhys in  _ your _ tender care? I don't think so. He'd be dead if I hadn't been keeping an eye on him. So uh, yeah, you don't get to hang on to him, and I'm not letting him outta my sight. So here's the deal, Dweebus: you can bring him up to my office, or I can send a Loader Bot to do it. And you can  _ stay _ in the airlock. And then I'll blast your idiot carcass into space. Okay? Are you—are you getting the idea?"

"I'm  _ not _ bringing him back to you," Vaughn said.

"Just . . . do what he says, Vaughn," Rhys sighed. He could hardly talk through the lump in his throat. "I'm not watching you die."

"You know what, Rhys?" Vaughn snapped. "You're an asshole. You're not gonna watch  _ me _ die, but you—but  _ you _ were just gonna blow yourself out of an airlock right in front of my face? You selfish, stupid—"

"Hey,  _ hey," _ Jack interrupted. "Y'know, shockingly, I don't think that's gonna  _ help." _

"But he's right," Rhys said.

"No, he's an asshole," Jack said. "Listen, Rhysie. Rhys! I've—I've been hard on you. Too hard. A-and I didn't see it, at first, y'know, 'cause I-I figured you'd uh, y'know, not . . . lose your friggin' mind but  _ whatever, _ my point is, things're gonna change, all right? I get it, you made your point, just—just come on up to the office, out of the airlock, and we'll talk this out, okay?"

"You think you can  _ fix _ this?" Vaughn demanded. His fingers were bruising Rhys's arm.

"No, idiot, I  _ am _ gonna fix this, and if you don't shut up and get outta my way, I'm gonna—"

"What, kill me?"

"N-no, I didn't  _ say _ that, did I say that? Ahah, nah,  _ no, _ no, I'm-I'm-I'm done, right, with the whole  _ killing people _ thing. A-at least, killing Rhys's friends. Y'hear that, kiddo? You're off the hook! Now, just, come out of the airlock, and get back up to my office, aaaand I tell you what, you can have all the synthetic happiness money can buy. Huh? How's that sound?"

Rhys swallowed.

Vaughn bristled. "You can't just—"

Then Rhys said, very quietly:

"Okay."

 


	10. Chapter 10

Sasha sat down on the bed across from Fiona and folded her arms.

"It's been two whole days," she said. "He's not coming back, and we're getting out of here."

"Uh," said Fiona, "not that I don't agree with you, but—where's this coming from? I thought you were all for waiting around for Rhys."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind, okay? We should get out. Now. Before anything  _ else _ goes wrong. And I'm  _ pretty sure _ it's already going wrong."

"You're not wrong," Fiona muttered, brushing the hair out of her face. "Okay. So, how do we get out of here?"

"With Loader Bot!" Gortys put in.

Fiona raised an eyebrow at her. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Ab-so-lutely!"

"Okay," said Fiona, shrugging. "But we still don't have a solid plan for escaping."

"I . . . was thinking about that," Sasha admitted. "You remember how that guard kept saying they hoped we were gonna get blown out of an airlock?"

"Psh. Yeah, of course I do. They barely talked about anything else. Why?"

"Well, that must mean there's an airlock in here." She was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Fiona. Something heavy settled in the pit of Fiona's stomach.

"Okay, and? That's not gonna help, unless we really  _ want _ to get blasted into space and—die horribly."

"No," said Sasha, "because I kept my helmet from the caravan. And you did, too." Uncertainty settled like snow onto her face. "Didn't you?"

Fiona blinked at her. "I . . . I  _ think _ so. Wow. I didn't even think of that. Nice going, Sash." She shook herself. "That still doesn't really fix the whole uh . . . explosive decompression problem. Or the 'finding the damn airlock' problem. Or what we do once we're out there, floating around loose in space without any kind of ship or even jetpacks or anything."

Sasha winced. "Yeah, I didn't  _ quite _ get around to that part of the plan yet. But, it's something to work with. And besides, if we blow the airlock in our own room, there's no  _ way _ any guards'll be able to stop us."

"That's a good point. Maybe Gortys could hang on to us during the decompression. Gortys, do you think you could keep us from getting blown out into space?"

"I dunno," Gortys replied. "But I could try!"

"You wouldn't happen to have any rockets on those legs of yours, would you?" Fiona asked.

"Ummm," said Gortys, "nope!"

"Well, it was worth a shot," she sighed. "So step one, I guess, is finding the airlock."

"And step two is finding a way to maneuver while in space. And, hopefully, not fall back to Pandora and die."

"That'd be a good thing, generally," Fiona agreed, smirking.

Sasha sighed, shaking her head. "I just don't see how we're going to get out of this  _ room, _ though. It's not like there's anything in here we could turn into propellant or . . . or a space ship."

"Hey Gortys," Fiona said, an idea rolling around in her head. "Would you mind trying to pull the door open?"

"I mind a little bit, 'cause I don't think I was supposed to be a crowbar," Gortys admitted, tromping across the room, "but anything for you, Captain Ma'am!"

"Uh . . . okay," said Fiona. "Uh, sorry?"

"It's—fine," Gortys managed, hauling on one of the doors. "Grr! Come—on—door! Am I getting it?"

"It doesn't look like it's budging," Sasha said.

"Oh," said Gortys, sagging. "Well, I tried!"

"And it was a very good try. Thank you, Gortys." Fiona brushed the hair out of her face. "So now what?"

"You could try shooting the door controls," Sasha suggested.

"Yeah, I think we'll save that for a last resort. Might call too much attention to us."

"Probably. And I guess it could lock us in here permanently, too."

She shivered. "I didn't think of that. Yeah, let's not do that until we're desperate."

"So tomorrow."

Fiona cracked a smile. "Maybe tonight, if I get bored enough."

* * *

 

She was almost bored enough to shoot the door, and was idly spinning the barrels of her little pistol, when the screen popped to life.

Both Fiona and Sasha were on their feet in an instant, alert and on guard; Fiona had pointed the pistol at the screen on instinct alone.

Her aim fell when she saw who it was.

"Oh thank  _ God," _ Vaughn blurted, falling all over himself. He was haggard, disheveled, his face blotchy, his eyes red. "You have to get up here, you have to help, he's—he's breathing but I can't find a pulse, and it looks  _ really bad _ and I don't know what to  _ do—" _

"Rhys?" Fiona asked. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't  _ know _ just get  _ up here!" _ Vaughn screamed, shaking whatever the camera was attached to. "I can let you out of that room, just hurry,  _ please, _ I think he's dying, I think—I think he's dying—"

"Good," she cut in.

A change overcame Vaughn's face, warping it into something feral and vicious, an expression she'd never imagined he could wear.

"I am  _ not _ going to watch him die again!" he snarled.

_ "Again?" _ Sasha cried.

"Just—get up here.  _ Now." _

The camera feed cut out, and in the same instant, the door hissed open.

Fiona and Sasha looked at each other.

"We could just run for it," Fiona remarked.

"I'm going to that office," Sasha declared. "You can run for it, if you want."

_ "Sasha—!" _ Fiona cried, but Sasha was already running.

* * *

 

Rhys was lying on the floor, convulsing weakly. Vaughn knelt next to him, holding his face in both hands and pouring a constant stream of words onto him. Sasha and Fiona sprinted across the office and dropped next to him.

"He's not breathing," Vaughn told them brokenly.

Sasha had pressed two fingers to Rhys's throat. "No pulse," she said.

Rhys's skin had turned a delicate shade of blue. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and something pink and glowing was dribbling from his nose.

"I am  _ not _ giving him mouth-to-mouth," Fiona declared, her lip curling.

Sasha, meanwhile, had very calmly drawn Rhys's stun-stick from his belt and flicked it on.

"Is that  _ safe?" _ Vaughn squeaked, his eyes gone wide. He let go of Rhys's face and pushed himself back across the floor.

"Nope," said Sasha.

And she touched the very tip of the baton to Rhys's chest.

His whole body jerked, arching off the floor and falling again with a thump. Sasha pressed her fingers to his throat, waited a moment, and then touched him with the stick again.

She did this three more times. On the last attempt, Rhys gasped when he fell back to the floor. His breath gurgled in his throat, and he sputtered, and Vaughn hurriedly rolled him onto his side. Glowing pink mucous spattered the floor while he coughed, but soon he settled, lying still and sucking down huge lungfuls of air, eyes closed.

Sasha turned the stun-stick off and tossed it over her shoulder, then deflated, trembling. Fiona put an arm around her shoulders.

"That could have gone really,  _ really _ badly," Sasha said.

"Yep," said Fiona. "If we're being fair, though, the worst you could've done is kill him, which, I mean, he was nearly dead anyway, so no big deal."

She shook her head. "Shut up, Fi."

"Hey, I'm just saying. If you  _ hadn't _ done anything he would've died, so you had nothing to lose."

"Seriously, shut up."

"I'm trying to be comforting!"

"Yeah, well, it's not working."

Rhys stirred, then coughed out something like a laugh.

"I was . . . really hoping for . . . mouth-to-mouth," he wheezed, pressing a hand to his chest.  _ "Ow _ , okay, seriously. . . ."

"You almost  _ died," _ Fiona pointed out. "We could've let you die. I don't think you have room to complain."

"Yeah, I think . . . that gives me even  _ more _ . . . room to complain," he said. "Never really thought . . . about the burns. . . . Ahaah, oh  _ fuck. . . ." _

"Vaughn," Sasha said, keeping her eyes on Rhys, "what's that . . . glowing stuff?"

Vaughn scrubbed at his face. "I don't know.  _ I _ don't know, how should  _ I _ know? Heck, I—I don't even remember anything glowing going in, y'know? Who  _ knows _ what kind of weird chemical reactions have been going on in his sinuses, I mean, seriously, it's been  _ non-freaking-stop." _

"Uh," said Fiona, frowning, "what?"

"It's . . . ugh, I really don't want to explain right now, okay? Can I just—can I have a couple minutes to just  _ be _ here, not being scared out of my mind, so  _ I _ don't have a heart attack? Is that okay with you two?"

"Okay!" Fiona said, raising her hands. "Fine, that's fine."

"Sorry there, buddy," Rhys said. He was grinning.

Vaughn buried his face in his hands and shook his head. "Oh, God. It's worse than I thought."

"Quick question, though," Fiona added. "Let's say, on a scale of one to ten: how high is he right now?"

"A million," Vaughn said, without hesitation. "A.  _ Million." _

"It's  _ awesome," _ said Rhys, rolling onto his back. He looked at the approximate area occupied by Sasha. "Try it sometime."

"You  _ literally just _ almost died," she pointed out.

He laughed again. "Never stopped me before."

Fiona's whole body went cold. Slowly, she turned to Vaughn.

"Vaughn," she said.

"Please don't yell at me," he mumbled into his hands.

_ "Vaughn," _ Fiona repeated, "which one of them is in there right now?"

"Technically . . . both?" he hazarded. "I mean it can be hard to—the line gets  _ super _ blurry when he's . . . like this."

"Oh,  _ gross!" _ Sasha cried, and shuddered, wiping her hand on her pants.

"You said Rhys was dying!" Fiona said, glaring.

"He was!"

_ "That," _ she corrected, pointing at the man on the floor, "is not Rhys!"

"It's Rhys  _ enough!" _

"I can't believe—I  _ can't _ believe I just . . .  _ saved Handsome Jack. _ I can't believe it," Sasha was muttering to herself.

"Can I beat the shit out of him? Right now? While he can't do anything about it?" Fiona asked, already shifting her weight to get on her feet.

"No!" Vaughn cried, and there was a blur and he was standing over Rhys's body, fists clenched, shoulders squared. "You're not going to  _ touch _ him."

"There's my little buddy," Rhys said, patting vaguely at Vaughn's leg.

"Shut up," Vaughn snapped. "This is all your fault anyway."

_ "Hah! _ Oh man. I'm gonna . . . do somethin' to you. Something."

"I could've let you die," Vaughn said.

"But you didn't," Rhys pointed out. "'Cause you're a . . . a good buddy."

"Well,  _ next _ time you go into cardiac arrest from whatever weird stuff you decided to snort  _ this _ hour, maybe I'll just—not do anything!"

"Suuuuure you won't.  _ Whiiiiiipped." _

"Maybe we should leave," Fiona murmured to Sasha. "Y'know. While they're distracted. Jack's not gonna be doing anything for a while. It's the perfect chance to run for it."

"And leave Vaughn here? With  _ that?" _ Sasha responded.

"Vaughn's fine."

"Rhys isn't."

"Screw Rhys. In fact, he's  _ already _ screwed, so I think we should get the hell out of here before  _ we _ end up screwed, too."

Sasha hesitated, biting her lip. "We . . . should get Gortys. And Loader Bot."

"Let's do that. Right now. C'mon." She stood, helping Sasha to her feet.

"Hey, where—where are  _ you _ two going?" Vaughn demanded.

"We're leaving," Fiona told him. "And I'd like to see anybody try and stop us."

"You can't just—"

"We're really sorry, Vaughn," said Sasha.

"She's really sorry," Fiona corrected.

On the floor, Rhys laughed again. "Hate to see you go, love to . . . not finish that sentence," he said.

"Can I hit him? Just once?" Fiona asked.

"No," said Vaughn. "Just . . . fine. Get out." His face went hard. "Cowards."

"Hey, don't you  _ dare—" _ Fiona began, starting towards him. Sasha caught her by the arm.

"No, he's right," she said. "Let's go."

Fiona fumed for a moment, then turned on her heel and stalked for the door, trusting Sasha to follow.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt. This, he thought, was a much better way to die than whatever he'd had planned.

Because he could tell, somewhere, that his heart had stopped, and the parts of him that were usually Jack were scared—and Vaughn was there, but nothing could be _perfect._

And somewhere in there, he'd been hit by a truck five times, and now, apparently, he wasn't going to die, and he had an inkling that other people had been there, but now it was just Vaughn again, or what was probably Vaughn, because Vaughn wasn't usually fifty feet tall and balancing the sky on his head.

A lot of strange things had been happening lately, though, and Rhys wasn't terribly concerned.

"Hey, buddy," he said, patting Vaughn's leg again. "Hey. Sit down. You're too tall."

Vaughn looked down at him with his nightmare face and shrank down to normal size, sitting next to Rhys and putting a hand on his head. He had too many fingers, but that was probably okay.

"Hhhheeeyyy," said Vaughn. His voice tended to speed up and slow down at random intervals. "Nnnot something Ihearoften."

Rhys laughed, because this was all ridiculous and he would really have liked to get back to the dying, because things were feeling less incredibly amazing with every passing heartbeat.

"Stop the ride," Jack said, "I wanna get off."

"Gross," said Rhys.

 _"You're_ gross," Jack shot back.

Somewhere, distantly, Rhys heard what actually spilled out of his mouth, which was something like, 'stop the gross, _gross.'_

"Uh," said Vaughn, "huh?"

Rhys waved a hand at the override port.

"He wants the thing," said Jack.

This gave both of them some pause.

Then Jack waved Rhys's hand at the override port, and _Rhys_ said, "He wants the thingy."

Rhys's eyes crossed, and he nodded to himself.

"Better," they agreed.

"Ooooohhh," said Vaughn. "Yyyou wwaannt th'port-thingokayI gotcha buddyyyy."

"You sound stupid," Rhys laughed at him.

"Rude," said Jack.

This made them both pause again.

"I'm done now, I wanna go home," said Jack.

"Please," said Rhys.

Vaughn picked him up under the arms—still with _way_ too many fingers—and dragged him across the floor to deposit him in the chair. Rhys's heels cut slow ripples into the paneling, and the chair was made out of hundreds of octopus-suckers, but since there was nothing he could do about it, he didn't see any point in getting upset.

"SoIjuststick this thing hheere innntooo youur hhead?" Vaughn asked.

The thing he waved in front of Rhys's face was not the executive override port, but it was _incredibly_ funny to Jack. Rhys turned his head away, laughing and disgusted.

"Oh, gross," he said. "Don't put that in my head."

"Those don't go in heads," Jack confirmed. "Hah. _Heads."_

"Shut up," Rhys scolded.

Once again, the jumble that came out must have been unintelligible to Vaughn, because he tried to stick the _thing_ into Rhys's port. Jack swatted his hand away.

"I said _don't,"_ Jack said.

"It's all— _moist,"_ Rhys complained, shuddering.

"Ooookaay, lllet's get you outtathere," Vaughn said. He cupped Rhys's cheek in one hand and lined up the _thing_ with Rhys's port. Jack bit his thumb, but not hard.

The thing went in.

The whole world went white with agony.

Rhys screamed as it tore through his head, ripping into his brain with razor claws, ravenous and violent. Jack was screaming, too, blind with the same pain and torn in the same places.

One or the other of them managed to yank the override port out of Rhys's head, and they slid out of the chair, shivering and gasping.

"Aw, shit," said Jack.

Vaughn was patting his face with his too-many-fingered hands, and the floor was sticking to his back like peanut butter. Rhys shook his head.

"No getting off," he said, and burst out laughing.

* * *

 

It took twelve hours for him to regain enough clarity to separate himself from Jack, and by the time he finally got the AI out of his head, he wished he was dead and felt like he was halfway there. He stayed slumped in the chair while Jack chattered inanely about how nice it was to be out of the ruins of Rhys's body.

Vaughn was holding his hand. Jack left.

"Hey," Vaughn said. "You still kicking in there?"

"I want a refund," Rhys mumbled.

Something in the chair hissed, and a wave of comfort spread through him. He breathed properly for what felt like the first time in days, and the tension in his shoulders unknotted.

Vaughn's face had gone hard.

"Oh, were we—were we starting again already? Sorry, I just thought you might want two _seconds_ of being sober to get your—get your _shit_ together."

"Vaughn," Rhys sighed, and leaned his head back. "Do you want me sober or do you want me _functional?"_

"Both!" Vaughn cried. "Can I have both? Please? Can this stop now? Can this be enough? Because I can't take another two days of this, Rhys. I'm sorry, bro, but I can't do it."

"It's fine, Vaughn. You can leave any time you want."

"What, and let you die on the floor all alone? I'm not doing that, either."

"Vaughn—"

"How about some other options, huh? How about, we all go home together? Or—somewhere, anywhere that isn't here. Together. How about everybody makes it out alive and—and okay? Can we put that on the table?"

Rhys looked down at the desk, blinking slowly. He wiped at his face, and his hand came back smeared with glowing pink ooze. He stared at that, then, for another few moments.

"Why is my snot glowing pink?" he inquired.

"I don't _know,_ Rhys, because _drugs,_ okay? Can we focus for a second here?"

Rhys focused for a second. He didn't like the feeling. But his brain, in its idle time, had put something together behind his back, and was showing it off proudly. It made him an offer he couldn't refuse. He folded his hands and closed his eyes.

"Vaughn," he said. "I'm going to ask you to do something that's going to get you killed."

"Oh, great, can't wait. You're the _best_ at incentivizing, you know that?"

"You _can_ turn me down, y'know."

Vaughn heaved a mighty sigh, flinging up his hands in defeat.

"Well, at least tell me what it _is,_ before I decide whether or not I want to get killed over it."

Rhys looked him in the eye and said, "I need you to write a virus."

"A—what for?"

Rhys raised his eyebrows. All the blood drained out of Vaughn's face.

"Oh," he said, and then, _"oh._ But how—"

Rhys tapped the port on the side of his head.

"You can't," Vaughn said. "If _it_ doesn't kill you, _he will."_

"Well," said Rhys, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "at least we'll all go together, right?"

* * *

 

"Okay, so I figure we have a couple hours, easy, to find Loader Bot and get out of here before Jack gets himself together enough to stop us."

Sasha was silent, tagging along at Fiona's elbow. Fiona raised an eyebrow at her.

"What, am I getting the silent treatment now?"

"I just—don't feel like talking. Okay, Fi? I really just don't want to do that right now."

"Hey, listen, I feel shitty about leaving them, too—"

"No you _don't!"_ Sasha burst out, stopping in her tracks. "You don't feel bad about it, you don't feel bad about anything! You don't feel anything at all, do you? You let Felix blow himself up because you knew we weren't getting the money anyway, you're leaving Rhys and Vaughn here because we can't get anything from them—it's all one big calculation, it's all just—just numbers, isn't it. _Isn't it?"_

"That's not even _remotely_ true and you know it," Fiona snapped. "If I could've saved Felix, I would have—"

"No! You wouldn't! Did you even _try_ to warn him? Or did you just let him blow himself up without blinking? 'Cause I _bet_ it was the second one. What happens to me when I end up on the wrong side of the equation, Fi?"

"That's _not_ what happened! And you _won't,_ because there _isn't_ an equation, there's just me and you, and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you because I _love_ you!"

Sasha's jaw clenched. There were tears in her eyes.

"Do you, Fi? 'Cause I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting played just like everybody else."

"Why are you _doing_ this, Sasha?" she demanded. Her sinuses were prickling, but the anger was burning off any tears before they could fall. "We don't have time to—"

"What, so we're just gonna put this off? For how long? 'Cause we're _never_ gonna stop running, not now, not with what _you_ have planned. How many more people are we gonna throw off the side to keep us from sinking?"

 _"As many as we have to!"_ Fiona cried. "We are _not_ sinking, Sash, not you and me, and if it comes right down to it, _I'll_ jump before I let you drown!"

Sasha looked like she'd been slapped. She stared at Fiona, eyes wide and mouth open. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"You don't mean that," she croaked.

"I mean it, all right," Fiona retorted. There was pressure building up behind the dam of her anger, which was feeling flimsier every second. "And we will talk about this. On the way down to the surface, okay? I promise. But right now, we have to get _out_ of here, before Jack wakes up and we have to go back to that stupid airlock plan that was gonna get us both killed."

Sasha forced a smile and wiped the tear off her cheek.

"It was a pretty stupid plan, wasn't it," she said.

"Hey, it was better than nothing, I'll give it that. We just have something better now, so let's _use_ it, quick, before we lose it." She paused. "I'm sorry I yelled, and I'm sorry about Vaughn and Rhys. But nobody else is getting left behind today. I promise you that. We're going to go get Gortys and Loader Bot, and we'll all get out of here together, and we'll turn this place into _splinters_ once we're clear. Okay?"

Sasha frowned. "I'm not so sure we should. With the . . . splinters, I mean. People _live_ here, Fi. A lot of people."

"And they're all corporate assholes, who cares?"

"They're _people!"_

"People who all— _all—_ want to be just like Handsome Jack. You've seen them, Sasha, you've seen what they're like. You don't want to spend your life running, so let's make sure _none_ of these assholes can ever chase us."

Sasha chewed on this, staring at Fiona's feet. Finally, she met Fiona's eyes.

"Let's go," she said.

* * *

 

"This is unbelievable," Fiona said, folding her arms.

"Where would she even have _gone?"_ Sasha wondered, checking under the bed for the third time.

"If I had to take a guess? To find Loader Bot. Although _God_ knows where _he_ is. Or if she even found him." She sighed and pushed the hair off her cheek. "It's not impossible the scientists caught up to her."

Sasha stood up and dusted off her pants. "So what now? I guess we could . . . split up? You go for the scientists and I'll go for the—wherever it is they keep the Loader Bots?"

A deep unease awoke in Fiona's gut.

"I don't think we should split up," she said. "We have time. I mean, right? Hours. There's no reason to split up. We'll check the Loader Bots first, see if we can find ours there, even if Gortys isn't with him. And if she's not, we'll look for her."

Sasha fidgeted. "It's not a . . . _bad_ plan, but. . . ."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "But what?"

"I really, _really_ want to get out of here, like, as soon as possible. I just think splitting up would get the job done faster. And if the Hyperion goons—or Jack—decide to stop us, it's not really gonna matter if we're together or not. In fact, we'd . . . probably have a better chance, if we were separated. Then at least _one_ of us might get out alive."

Grinding her teeth, Fiona turned away. She paced to the far wall and back, then made a frustrated noise and rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I don't _like_ it, but fine. If you get in any trouble, that finger-gun stuff seems to work for at least a little while—"

"I think I can handle myself, Fi," Sasha said gently.

"Well, yeah, I mean, of course you can, but—"

"It'll be okay. I'll meet you at the shuttle bay in an hour. If we haven't found Loader Bot and Gortys by then, we'll . . . look together."

Fiona sighed through her nose, pursing her lips. "Sure, okay. But an hour after _that,_ we're leaving with or without them. We'll just get as far away from here as we can, find some other planet to live on—they won't chase us if we don't take Gortys, so. . . ."

"So," Sasha agreed.

Fiona turned and strode to the door. Sasha followed her. They stood just outside the threshold and faced each other.

Without warning, Sasha threw her arms around Fiona and squeezed. Fiona started, staring down at her.

"Uh," she said, "what's . . . what's this about?"

"Just in case," Sasha murmured. "Just in case something . . . happens. Y'know?"

Fiona sighed. The unease was stirring in her gut, shifting like a restless snake. She wrapped her arms around Sasha and returned the embrace. She could feel Sasha's heart pounding against her chest.

"Hey," she said, "it's gonna be okay."

Sasha nodded, and sniffled.

"I . . . I love you, big sis," she said.

"Okay, hey, enough of that," Fiona said, disentangling herself. "It's not like this is _goodbye._ Don't jinx it."

Sasha sniffled again and wiped her eyes.

"Yeah," she said. "See you in an hour, then."

"Will do," Fiona promised.

Sasha punched her lightly on the arm, then turned and hurried off down the hall.

Fiona sighed.

"I have a _bad_ feeling about this," she muttered to herself, and started off in the opposite direction.

 


End file.
